Soaring With Honor
by The Skald
Summary: He is Artys Arryn, son of Lord Jon Arryn and his first wife. Raised in the Eyrie alongside Ned and Robert, who became his brothers. Can one man change the fate of Seven Kingdoms? Only time will tell.
1. Chapter 1

**Jon Arryn**

The winter winds where brisk in the Vale of Arryn especially at the base of the Giant's Lance, the gales swirling around the peak of the mountain and collecting the cold air near the abandoned Eyrie, then sweeping them down the slopes past the way castles and to the Gates of the Moon. The winter home of the Arryn's was a hub of activity in the white blanketed valley at the foot of the Giant's Lance. Servants bustled about and guards patrolled the walls of the stout stone keep. In the highest tower of the castle Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale and the Eyrie stood at the window of his study.

Jon watched out the window of his office in the Star Tower as his son Artys trained in the practice yard below. Jon smiled as Artys dueled with one of his wards, Robert Baratheon. Robert was a giant of a man even at just sixteen, six and a half feet tall and muscled like a bull, all coupled with a handsome face beneath a crop of midnight black hair. The young Lord of Storm's End dwarfed even Jon, and the Lord of the Eyrie was not a small man himself, taller than most and with broad shoulders from long years of weapons training. Shaking his head Jon flicked his eyes back to his son just as Artys parried a blow from Robert and slammed his own weapon into the big man's shoulder, beginning his own offensive. Artys was the result of Jon's first marriage, to Jeyne Royce, Jon smiled sadly at the thought of the girl, a pretty thing and sweet as summer. Jeyne was from one of the oldest and strongest houses in the Vale, descended from the First Men. She'd died giving birth to Artys, their only son, just over seventeen years ago.

Artys was a blending of their two families, of First Men Royces and Andal Arryns. The young man was just two finger widths shorter than Robert, which meant he towered over Jon, and he was built just as broad and strong as the Baratheon man. His eyes where the grey of the Royces, but his hair was Arryn blonde. Artys was an exceptionally handsome lad, with a square jaw and an aquiline nose, the object of every young lady in the Vale's desires, though he was too shy to make anything of it. Jon swelled with pride just looking at him, Artys was a son that any man could be proud of, an outstanding swordsman and jouster, kind hearted and clever, brave and gentle. The only problem was his shyness, Jon knew his son was practically terrified of speaking to women, and was quiet even around other men and friends.

Jon chuckled at that thought, it was probably what made his son get along so well with his wards. True Robert was as loud and boisterous as his size implied, the big lord loved women, hunting and feasting and had at least one bastard that Jon knew of. A babe just over a year old now, Mya Stone, begat on some tavern keeper's daughter in the castle town outside the Gates of the Moon. But Artys and Jon's second ward, Ned, where both quiet lads. Neither spoke much except for when they had to, and neither was much given to drinking or women. The three offset each other immensely but at the same time each lad brought out the best in the others.

Jon's eyes now flicked away from the combatants as Artys delivered a heavy backhand blow that Robert barely caught on an upraised shield. Sitting on a barrel watching the two from the edge of the courtyard was Ned himself. Unlike his two big friends, Eddard Stark was a rather plain and unassuming lad. He was tall, that much was true, but his friend's dwarfed him, which added to the illusion that the northman was of average height or shorter. Ned was lean limbed, with the athletic figure of a warrior, his hair a plain brown color and his eyes a grey that changed color with his moods. His face was handsome, though not in any manner that made him stand out from a crowd. Where Artys and Robert stood out, looking like the knights or kings of maiden's fantasies Ned was just, Ned.

A great booming laugh drew Jon's gaze back to Artys and Robert. Artys had just knocked the bigger man's blade from his hand and had his sword leveled at Robert's neck. The Baratheon lord had his head thrown back and was laughing thunderously as Artys merely smiled softly at his victory. From the edges of the yard came applause and cheers. In addition to his wards Jon was hosting the young heirs and grandsons of a dozen lords, all seeking to bond and make friends with Artys so as to gain the favor of the future lord of the Vale. Albar Royce, the son of Nestor Royce and distant cousin to Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone stood side by side with his cousin Andar, the heir to Runestone. Both young men two years Artys' junior and nearly as tall as their cousin, with the same build, and fiercely loyal to Artys. Ser Harlan Hunter, youngest son of Lord Hunter and Artys' senior by five years. Jasper Redfort, a boy of twelve whose father wanted him to squire for Artys. Ser Elbert, the only son of Jon's dead brother was leaning against one wall of the courtyard, Jon's distant younger cousin Ser Denys Arryn standing beside him. Not to mention half a dozen others from less distinguished houses,the sons of landed knights and minor lords.

Artys and Robert's stalemate quickly dissolved into a wrestling match as Robert tackled the smaller man to the ground and began trying to stuff snow down the back of his padded jerkin. Jon chuckled at the sight of it, then grew grim at the realization that this might be the last time he would see this for a while. Ned had turned sixteen not a week past, and as per the terms of his fostering in the Vale he was to return home soon. Artys and Robert had volunteered to escort him home, though Robert was technically supposed to have returned home himself not long ago, but he'd decided to take a ship from White Harbor to return home once Ned was returned to Winterfell. The three where due to leave in just a fortnight, taking a score of guardsmen, three knights and the Royce cousins with them.

The thought of losing even one of the young men that he had come to view as his sons in the past eight years was a hard thing for Jon to process. On one hand Jon was happy for the young man, he was getting the chance to return home and see his family, something he'd only managed to do one other time in the past eight years considering the massive distance one had to travel to reach the North and Winterfell. On the other hand Jon was devastated to see him go, the Eyrie wouldn't be the same without him, doubly so with Robert. Shaking his head Jon drove the thoughts from his mind and watched Artys and Robert struggle in the winter snows, laughing as they fought and the other young men egged them on.

Turning away from the window Jon strode to the door of his study, opening it to reveal the single guard stationed outside, a rangy man with greying hair to match Jon's own, "Wallen, kindly go ask my son to present himself in my study within the hour, preferably after washing and changing."

The guardsman gave a shallow bow and darted off down the stairs at Jon's request. Vanishing around the curve of the tower within the span of a few heartbeats. Closing the door once more Jon returned to the window, looking down at the courtyard below. Somehow Artys and Robert had roped many of the other young men in the yard into a snowball fight, acting more like children then young men almost grown, it brought a smile to Jon's face at the sight of it.

Turning from the window Jon sat back down at his desk, scanning the ancient oak top for a moment. Scattered atop the desk where dozens of letters and scrolls, reports from the Bloody Gate, requests from lords across the Vale, sheets of taxes and tariffs that had been collected from said lords, and even a handful of betrothal offers from lords of the Vale and beyond. Picking up one such letter Jon scanned it for the second time today.

It was from Lord Walder Frey of the Twins, a man midway through his seventieth year and with more descendants than anyone cared to count. The man was one of the most powerful lords in the Riverlands, but he was too eager for marriage contracts by far, this alone was the sixth such letter he'd sent to Jon _this year_. Setting the letter aside Jon flipped through the stack it had been atop, noting the names of other houses proposing a betrothal as he looked, Mallister, Waynwood, Corbray, Hunter, Grafton, Bracken, Ryswell. Mostly his own bannermen, but a handful from outside his lands, the Ryswell's where northmen and the Brackens and Mallisters where from the Riverlands.

In all honesty though Jon didn't think any of them where suitable at the moment, he was looking for a stronger match for his boy. Though they hadn't sent him proposals he knew of three houses with daughters that might be worth looking into. Cersei Lannister was supposedly a beauty, and her father was the wealthiest man in Westeros, and high in the favor of the king as well. Lord Hoster Tully's younger daughter wasn't betrothed yet, another fair lass, and if her father couldn't match Lannsiter wealth he at the least controlled only lands with a land route into the Vale. Or there was Ned's sister, Lyanna Stark, Ned spoke highly of her, and her father was reportedly looking for marriage alliances in the south, and trade with the North across the Bite could certainly help the Vale's coffers.

With Ned and Robert leaving and Artys now a man grown at seven and ten Jon supposed that he should probably start looking into these things further. After all, the Arryn family wasn't exactly numerous these days, there where just four of them left now, him, Artys, Elbert and Denys. If his house was to grow and prosper Artys would need to marry soon.

Leaning back in his chair Jon made a mental note to send ravens to Casterly Rock, Riverrun and Winterfell making inquiries about the hands of those girls. Maybe Artys would take a liking to the Stark lass while he was in the North, and if not, well most marriages weren't made with love in mind.

 **Artys Arryn**

Artys shook himself, trying to dislodge the snow that Robert had somehow gotten down the back of his doublet, even with his armour on over it. The chill had been somewhat pleasant at first but it was getting uncomfortable now. Shoving open the door to his chambers he quickly began struggling out of his doublet, almost before he'd gotten the door shut. Pulling the sweat and snow soaked garment over his head Artys grunted in shock as the remaining snow now soaked his neck and head.

Tossing the doublet off to the side Artys took a moment to look around his chambers as he let the melting snow run off his back and onto the stone floor. His rooms where rather plain considering that he was the heir to the Vale. No expensive rugs from Essos, no finely carved woodwork, the walls where plain stone, the rugs made from simple wool and the furniture was unadorned and practical. The sole source of ornamentation in the room hung from a wooden rack just beside the fireplace. A suit of finely made plate, given to him as a gift from his uncle Yohn for his last name day, to celebrate the knighthood he'd earned not long before the occasion.

The plate was a melding of Arryn and Royce, just like Artys. The armor was made of fine steel, burnished and unmarred by use as of yet, carved and cast in bronze across the face of the armor where First Men runes. Twin steel falcons formed the pauldrons, the wings curving back over his shoulders protectively. Most magnifiicent of all was the helm, worked in bronze and steel was a startlingly lifelike falcon's head, the screeching beak forming the visor of the helm.

Artys had only had the chance to wear the armor a handful of times, and never in a real fight before. Not that he'd had many of those to wear it in. Turning away from the armor Artys pushed it from his mind, instead finishing stripping as he pushed open the doorway to one of the handful of side rooms his chambers possessed. A large copper tub sat in the middle of the room, ringed by a cleverly lowered bit of the floor to keep overflow from flooding the entire room, a small drain in the depression would then drain the spilled water through some piping. Where it went Artys had no idea, he'd never really thought to ask that question. The tub was full almost to the brim with steaming water, just as he'd asked, and with a luxuriant sigh Artys sank into it.

For a few moments he let the hot water simply wash over him, enjoying the feeling as it washed away the winter cold and the chills from the snow Robert had stuffed in his shirt. After that brief moment of ecstasy Artys quickly began to wash himself, sparring little more time to enjoy the bath. Father had asked for him, and keeping his father waiting wasn't something Artys liked to do. It took mere minutes to finish, and Artys quickly clambered out, sending water splashing to the floor before drying himself with a nearby cloth as he watched the spilled water drain through the grate in the floor, idly wondering once more where it went.

With his bath completed he strode back into his room, stopping before his wardrobe for new clothing. Throwing it open he grabbed a pair of stout woolen trousers almost at random. Like his room his clothes where simple, wools and leathers for the most part, cut for hunting, fighting, riding and climbing. The handful of court clothes that his father demanded he keep where likewise somewhat simple, blues and greys with the Arryn moon and falcon on the breasts, nothing flashy.

Pulling on the trousers Artys then grabbed a wool tunic, dyed a dark grey, with a white falcon stitched upon each sleeve. An undyed leather jerkin went over that, followed by his sword belt, the heavy iron pommel etched with another wheeling falcon resting easily just above his left hip, a dagger hanging at his other side. As he struggled to put on his boots a heavy knock came at the door. Starting in surprise Artys looked up, and managed to cough out a response to the interuption of his concentration, "Enter."

Robert pushed the door open, the Baratheon man striding easily into the room, clad in hunting leathers as usual, a sword that Artys knew he hated using strapped to his hip. The younger man chuckled heartily as he watched Artys struggle with his boots, "Having a bit of trouble are we Artys?"

Without looking up Artys directed a rude gesture towards his friend, eliciting more chuckles. With a grunt he managed to get the boot on and laced, muttering under his breath as he did so. Looking up a Robert he cocked an eyebrow questioningly, why was Robert here? His friend knew he was getting ready for a meeting with his father. The big man closed the door cautiously, which only added to Artys' confusion. Taking a deep breath Robert looked seriously at him, "Artys, I need to ask you for a favor." Artys' eyebrow climbed higher as he sat up from his boots and rested his forearms on his knees, looking at his friend curiously.

Robert looked almost nervous for a moment, "You know I'm going home directly from the North, taking a ship from White Harbor to Weeping Town." His confusion unabated Artys gave a nod, his brow beginning to furrow. "I was hoping, that you would keep an eye on Mya once I'm gone. Maybe talk to your father about fostering her in the Eyrie, giving her a place in the household once she's old enough." His big friend looked slightly heartbroken, "I'd love to take the little lass home with me to Storm's End, but Stannis would pitch a fit, and I'm to be married not to long from now." There Artys almost stopped him, Robert was betrothed? Since when? To who?

Missing Artys' shock entirely Robert carried on, wringing his hands somewhat, "I can't take Mya with me, but I want better than just some lord's bastard growing up in a tavern for her. I'll pay whatever you need to support her and her mother, I'd just appreciate it if you would check on her every now and then, don't let her forget who I am, that kind of thing."

Standing Artys clapped his friend on the shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Looking Robert squarely in the eye he gave him a reassuring grin, "She'll be safe and happy here Robert. I'll be sure of that." The Baratheon lord looked remarkably relieved and began to thank him profusely. Shaking his head Artys' widened his grin, "And I'll be sure to tell her all the stories about her father's _exploits_ as a boy."

With a chuckle Robert thanked him again as Artys began shuffling his friend towards the door so he could finish preparing for the meeting with his father. Pushing Robert out the door Artys paused for a moment, realizing something, "Robert" His friend turned to him, grunting questioningly at Artys interuption of his escape, "You said you're betrothed now?"

Robert shook his head in embarassment and chuckled, "Did I forget to tell you Artys? Sorry, still adjusting to that little fact." He smiled widely, "I'm betrothed to Ned's sister, Lyanna. Just finished the negotiations with his father recently. Part of why I'm coming north to Winterfell, to meet her. Word has it she's a rare beauty."

Artys nodded, slightly offended that his friends hadn't told him of the betrothal but happy for Robert, "Congratulations Robert. Take it this means you'll be spending less time in the taverns now?"

Robert's grin only widened, "Of course not! I'm only betrothed Artys, I've got years to _explore_ all the good lasses of the seven kingdoms." Artys frowned at that, no lord liked having his daughter dishonored by her husband openly whoring his way about, especially not lord's so honorable as the Stark's. Robert's _exploring_ wasn't going to win his new betrothed over to him. Artys bid his friend a quick farewell and watched him leave, letting his mind run wild for a moment with all that could go wrong between Robert and the Starks.

Shaking his head Artys shut the door and pushed those thoughts away, thinking back to Robert's request instead, honestly he wasn't even sure why Robert felt the need to ask him to look after Mya. Artys and Ned had gone with him to visit the girl a handful of times, even if Robert was tired of her mother he loved that little girl and could play with her for hours. A love that had rubbed off on Artys well, though Ned seemed a little cautious around the babe. Artys had planned on taking care of Mya with Robert gone, and he was sure his father had plans for her as well.

Walking back to his still open wardrobe Artys let his eyes drift to his favorite garment within the oak monstrosity. A Shadowskin cloak, slightly long even on his massive frame, the black fur streaked with silver, the cloak fastened with a simple brass clasp. The cloak was the source of one of Artys' favorite memories; when they where thirteen he'd convinced Ned and Robert to climb the Giant's lance with him, just as autumn was starting to arrive. The three of them had snuck out before dawn one morning armed with climbing gear, bedrolls, a pair of hunting bows, and their daggers.

They'd planned to climb the mountain to a small pool that Artys had found a few months before, where the waterfall men called Alyssa's Tears landed and camp for a night before climbing back down. A crude staircase had led to the great shelf that housed the pool once, but had been worn away by time and the rain, leaving only a handful of the steps even recognizable. Artys had found the place while climbing the mountain and a small glade, two score weathered pines and ashes surrounded the pool, eking out a living in the rocky soil. At the heart of the glade was the most remarkable part, a weirwood stunted but strong, with a weeping face carved into its trunk, was nestled against the shore of the pool.

Artys had been raised in the light of the seven, as had his family for hundreds of years, even the Royces. But he'd been struck by the beauty of the shelf and the weirwood when he'd found the place, by his best guess it had been a godswood for the First Men before the Andal invasion, abandoned when his namesake crushed the First Men beneath this very mountain, and lost to the ages. Climbing to the glade wasn't difficult, but it took longer than he'd expected with Robert and Ned in tow.

They'd reached the shelf just before dusk on the first day, and had promptly made camp, never noticing the complete lack of noise from the birds and squirrels that Artys had seen inhabiting the glade on his previous visit. Halfway through the night they'd awoken to the sound of a great coughing yowl not far from their camp, and not long after it had come prowling near them. A shadow cat, one of the largest Artys had ever seen, nearly ten feet from nose to tail tip. Snarling the beast had stalked around their fire, its fiery eyes appearing to float across the rocky ground.

The beast had stumbled across the shelf much like them, and had rested here near the pool before returning to its hunt. But game was scarce on the mountain during autumn and the great cat had been starving, in desperation it saw three young boys as the perfect meal. Robert had stood his ground, eager to kill the beast and prove himself before Artys and Ned, even though the only weapon he clutched was a dagger.

When the cat had attacked everything became blur, none of the three truly remembered what happened afterwards, with the shadows and the fear spreading confusion. But they agreed that the shadowcat had come for Artys. What they did remember was the aftermath, Artys had come to with a burning pain across his left shoulder and a heavy weight upon his chest. When Robert and Ned managed to free him he realized it was the shadowcat.

A single arrow protruded from the cat's shoulder, courtesy of Ned. The killing blow however was from Artys, somehow, some way he'd managed to get his dagger up and had apparently stabbed the cat three times, twice in the neck and a third blow to the cat's eye. But the shadowcat had left it mark on him as well, four claw marks tracing from his right shoulder down to barely shy of his stomach, and a single massive bite mark upon his left forearm.

It took the three of them two full days to descend the mountain, with Artys injured and Robert insisting upon bringing the shadowcat along as proof. Artys' smiled at the memory of their return, his father's fury, followed by his quiet pride. Artys' had the cloak made to remember that adventure, and he, Ned and Robert each had a pendant made from several of the shadowcat's teeth to remind them of the time.

In that moment it began to sink in that Ned and Robert where leaving, his best friends, his only friends really. Artys briefly wondered what he'd do without them. True he had his cousins, but Andar and Albar weren't the same as Ned and Robert. Shaking his head sadly at the thought of it Artys swept his shadowskin about his shoulders, he'd have to cross the courtyard to see his father and the cloak was warmer than anything else he had. Taking a deep breath to push the memories and the thoughts of his friend's leaving away he strode towards the door. Time to go see his father.

The trip to his father's chamber was not a long one, and Artys reached the door to his father's study after only a few minutes brisk walk, shaking snow from his crossing of the courtyard off of his shoulders as he did so. A single guard stood outside the lord's study, acting more as doorkeeper to prevent father from being disturbed than a true bodyguard. The man merely gave Artys a single nod as he approached, and offered no resistance when Artys pushed the door open and entered, instead pulling the door shut behind him.

Within the study was as it had been for as long as Artys could remember. Warm woolen rugs decorated with images of famous battles covered the floor. The right wall was covered by two stout shelves full of books and scrolls, mostly ledgers and records his father found useful to keep at hand. The hearth was burning merrily, flanked as always by two comfortable chairs, a pair of heavy battleaxes crossed above the mantle. His father's desk, a stout oaken thing carved centuries ago and decorated with landscapes of mountain ranges, dominated the far wall, seated between two windows that lit the room. Behind the desk hung his father's favorite tapestry, one depecting the Battle of the Seven Stars, where the Arryn's had won their kingship of the Vale, led by Artys' namesake.

Lord Jon Arryn sat beneath that tapestry, scribbling furiously away at some parchment before him, barely seeming to notice as Artys entered. Without a word Artys crossed the distance to his father's desk, seating himself in the chair before it as he waited for his father to finish writing. It took only moments before his father set the quill and parchment aside and looked up at his son, eyeing him carefully for a few heartbeats. Finally the Artys' father broke the silence, "You still plan to leave for Winterfell soon?"

Artys gave a shrug, "Aye. Ned's itching to be home soon. The plan's to leave in two days if the weather's good." His father nodded slowly as Artys carried on, "We'll ride to Ironoaks by Ronnel's pass, then on to Gulltown. We'll take a ship north to Sisterton, and then on to White Harbor. It's straight to Winterfell from there."

His father leaned back in his chair and ran fingers through greying hair, "You couldn't convince him to at least wait until winter breaks? The maester's are saying that the better part of it has passed already."

At that Artys chuckled and shook his head, "Ned say's that its been to long since he's been home, he misses his family. Besides you know him as well as I do father, there's steel in him, even Robert can't talk him out of something he's set his mind to." Lord Arryn laughed with his son for a moment. As silence fell once more Artys wondered why his father had actually called him here, after all they'd spoken on the route he intended to take to Winterfell several times already.

His father sighed and gestured at a pile of letters upon his desk, seeming to notice Artys' confusion, "I've been getting these for the last few moons. They're letters offering betrothals between you and half the noble ladies of the Vale, and a few beyond." Artys winced, so this was what his father had brought him here to speak on, _betrothals_. He'd been dreading this moment for half his life. True he liked women but he'd never had much skill with talking to them, high born or low, and the idea of wedding a stranger was one that sent butterflies racing about his stomach.

Lord Arryn gave him a slight smile and nodded, "I know, you don't like the idea Artys, but it needs to be done. Our family needs to grow, and you need heirs so that your own sons can one day rule the Eyrie." Artys nodded grimly at his father's words, he wasn't wrong after all, but that didn't make the idea more palatable. His father leaned forward resting his elbows on his desk, "I want your opinion for who you marry though Artys, I won't put you through this without at least a say in it."

Artys managed a wain smile, "Well that's something I guess. Though I assume from the fact that I'm here at all you've narrowed it down to a handful of _your_ favorites."

Here the elder Arryn merely nodded, keeping his face calm, "I have. _Three_ of the great family's have daughters around your age who are available for betrothals. Any of them would be a good bride for you, they could build strong alliances for the Vale." Artys nodded once more, and his father carried on, "Cersei Lannister is just two years your junior, and everything I've heard says she's a great beauty, the kind that comes around once in a generation. Lysa Tully is just fourteen, but I'm told she's a pretty little thing, and cheerful. Or there's Lyanna Stark, though I'm sure Ned's told you enough about her."

Immediately Artys began shaking his head, "Lyanna Stark's betrothed, to Robert." That caused his father to sit up in his chair and take notice.

"When did that happen?"

Artys shrugged, "I'm not sure exactly. Robert just told me about it today though."

Lord Arryn grunted and reached across to another scrap of parchment, quickly scribbling something upon it and muttering under his breath. Turning back to Artys he gave a half hearted grimace, "Well I suppose that makes your choice easier."

Sighing Artys ran a hand across his jaw, "Why not any of our bannermen? I know that Lady Waynwood has a daughter my age, she won't stop hounding me about her after all."

Father chuckled, "I know, she's been after me about it too." He grew serious, "I don't want to offend any of our bannermen. If you marry ones daughter you'll slight three more, they'll think that we're favoring one above the rest. Marry one of the great family's and they can't see us as playing favorites."

Artys frowned internally, his father's logic wasn't perfect, they'd still leave slighted bannermen, but the added wealth for the Vale and the Eyrie that would come with a marriage outside the Vale would help some with that. Glancing at his father he raised an eyebrow questioningly, "I don't suppose that I'll have time to think about this? Maybe meet them?"

Father shrugged, "You can have time if you wish, I'll start making inquiries and suggestions to both their fathers. As for meeting them" He paused and thought for a moment, "There's rumors that Lord Whent is starting to make plans for a tourney. A quite impressive tourney if they're accurate to any degree. The Tully girl will likely be there, her mother's a Whent after all. Maybe the Lannister girl will attend? We'll have to see."

Artys nodded and let his thoughts drift as the conversation turned to more mundane topics, automatically answering his father's questions as his mind went elsewhere. Wondering about the two ladies he must decide between.

 **Author's Note: So here we go. My first ever fan fiction. Hope you all enjoyed it. Feedback and reviews are welcome, just please try to keep it constructive is all I ask. Thanks for reading and hopefully I'll give you all more to read soon.**

 **-S**


	2. Chapter 2

**Artys Arryn**

Artys inhaled deeply the scent of the salt air, smiling as he did so. The smell of the ocean almost blocked out the biting cold nipping at his nose with the pure joy of it, _almost_. Before him stretched the Gullway, the road between Runestone and Gulltown. Just coming into view at the end of the weathered stone road was Gulltown itself, the birds which gave the city its name wheeling in the air above the port. Beside him Robert grumbled and pulled his cloak tighter about him, "Thank the gods, maybe we can actually get a warm bed and some wine tonight. Maybe even a wench to take the chill from my bones. "

Several of the guardsmen who rode behind them could be heard mumbling agreement even as Ned answered from Artys' other side, "The cold getting to you Robert? How are you ever going to survive when we reach the North?" Both Andar and Albar snickered from their positions in the middle of the column. Artys had to admit about Ned the usually somber Stark man sounded unusually cheery, a mood he'd maintained for the entire fortnight that the journey from the Gates of the Moon to Gulltown had taken. Ned had spent the nights when they'd been forced to camp beneath the stars regaling their entire band with tales of Winterfell and the North. Of hunting in the Wolfswood, exploring the depths of Winterfell with his siblings, or of the massive godswood at the heart of the ancient fortress.

Most of the men who rode with them had scoffed at that idea, after all this was the Vale, heart of the Andal's in Westeros. Every man that Artys had with him had been raised in the light of the seven, and cut their teeth fighting against the First Men of the mountain clans who still held to the Old Gods. Yet the beautiful godswood and the great heart tree that Ned had described called out to Artys, he worshiped the seven like his father and his father before him, but Artys' had always been enthralled by the beauty of godswoods. What few he had seen at least, most of the ones in the Vale had been destroyed thousands of years ago.

Robert's response to Ned pulled Artys back to the present, "I don't know if will, are there even any inns to stop at up there? Or do all you northmen just sleep in caves and beneath your weirwoods?"

Ned chuckled at the bigger man's words, "We've inns Robert, but they're just scattered more widely than here in the south. So you'll do your fair share of sleeping in caves and beneath weirwoods."

The Baratheon lord grumbled something beneath his breath at the thought of that, and Artys had to hide a smile at his friend's expense. Robert was no pampered flower, and loved to spend his summers hunting and riding about. But by Robert's own admission he wasn't made for winter and the cold. On the handful of days when their party couldn't find inns to stay the night in Robert had complained bitterly at the cold, almost as bitterly as he complained about the fact that they had to take a ship.

Artys couldn't entirely blame him however, this winter was turning into a brutally cold one, the worst of the five that he had seen. Even Ronnel's pass, the lowest of the passes between Ironoaks and the Eyrie, had been truly treacherous during their journey. They'd lost four horses and one of their guardsmen had badly broken his leg during the crossing. They'd been forced to leave the poor man and another whom had taken ill at Ironoaks with a promise from Lord Waynwood to see the two men home once they where well enough to travel.

Still most of the journey wasn't extremely harrowing. They'd stayed at holdfasts or inns most nights, and one night even in a crofters barn. Artys' cousins at Runestone and Lord Waynwood had both let them rest in their castle's for two days, and thrown a feast for them as well. Ned and Robert where well loved here in the Vale after all, and Artys was still certain that Lady Waynwood wanted him to marry one of her daughters.

As the gates of the city drew nearer and the men around him took to talking among themselves Artys allowed his thoughts to instead drift forward. They planned to stay here in Gulltown for two more days, or as long as it took to find a ship traveling north to White Harbor. From here they would likely have to stop at Sisterton to resupply before journeying on to White Harbor. The trip to Winterfell from then on was fairly straight and simple.

The gates of the city, great oaken things banded with heavy black iron, stood open as Artys and his companions rode through, and a small squad of bored looking guardsmen stood watch just within them. Though the guards seemed more intent upon huddling around a brazier nestled within a small shed set up against the wall of one of the gatehouses. Two, the youngest by the look of them, stood outside the shack, clutching spears in gloved hands and questioning the handful of travelers entering the city before allowing them within.

The only other traveler before Artys' party was a round bellied man and two young boys driving a small wagon packed to the boards with firewood, and looking nervously back at the noblemen behind them as they tried to maneuver through the gate. After a few moments however they where through the gateway and within the city, trundling along as quickly as they seemingly could down the nearly empty street.

As Artys approached the two guardsmen stood marginally straighter, one reaching up to pull his steel half helm at the sight of what could only be a lord's routine. The taller of the two however sounded extremely bored as he looked up at Artys and drawled his questions, "Name m'lord?"

Artys noticed that tucked into a niche between the shack where most of the guardsmen stood and the doorway of the gatehouse was another guardsman, this one clutching a wax tablet onto which to write the information that the other guard asked for. Turning to the bored man Artys opened his mouth to speak when one of his knights beat him to it.

"Do you have eyes boy? Look at the bloody banners, he's Artys Arryn you fuckwit!" Artys sighed quietly, Ser Markus Pebble was one of the better knights in his father's service, loyal and good with a blade. But the man had a nasty temper and no fear when it came to speaking his mind. Something which the wiry and greying knight did often, especially when it came to berating others for their perceived mistakes.

Still Markus' words had the desired effect as the guardsman did indeed look up at the banner waving gently in the wind behind Artys, and the falcon and moon sigil upon his surcoat. The young man's eyes widened in fear as he realized who he was speaking to as he began to stutter nervously, "Ap-p-pologies m'lord, w-what is your buisness in Gulltown might I ask m-m'lord."

Artys caught the sight of a few of the man's fellows snickering in their shack, and even the clerk hiding a smile at seeing the soldier's reaction. Smiling apologetically at the young man he nodded towards the keep rising at the west end of the city, "We've come to see lord Grafton and speak with him about finding a ship guardsman..."

The man's wide eyed and terrified expression faded slightly at Artys' words as he answered, "N-natt m'lord. Apologies for before, please enjoy your stay in the city." Bowing his head the young man scurried back to the perceived safety of his companions in their shack. Leaving the other man who'd stood in the gateway watching after him with an amused expression on his face as he signaled Artys and his companions through.

Artys heard Robert stifle a chuckle as they slowly moved out of sight of the gatehouse, "Poor man about shit himself when Ser Markus lit into him, never seen someones eyes get so big Artys." Artys glanced back at his friends and noticed that even Ned had cracked a smile, as well as most of the guardsmen. The only man not seemingly amused by the exchange was Ser Markus, who glared sourly about as usual, muttering something under his breath as he did so. Shaking his head and smiling Artys looked back ahead, he felt a little bad for the guard but the look on his face had still been humorous.

Ahead of their advancing party the main road made straight for the central square of the city, despite it being midday however the wide street was mostly empty. The handful of people out and about merely offered swift bows and scurried about their buisness, making sure to stear well clear of the near to thirty armoured riders. Traffic picked up only marginally as the group neared the square, merchants bundled well against the cold began to line the streets, hawking their wears as Artys' and his companions passed.

Bakers and butchers, smiths and jewellers tried to catch their attention with promises of fine food and fine crafts. Yet Artys paid them little head, Gulltown was the sole city of the Vale, and one could find anything in its streets, not that Artys was looking for anything. When they reached the square itself the traffic had reached its greatest point, dozens of people moved about their buisnes none of them paying him an obvious heed now.

Finally a sign caught Artys eye just outside the square, a large stone building with a small walled courtyard surrounding it. A sign painted with an image of a blue dragon curled around itself and smoke puffing merrily from its nose with crude letters scrawled beneath it spelling; the Drake's Rest. More smoke rolled from two chimneys and even over the sounds of the market singing could be heard from within.

Leaning over Artys tapped Robert on the shoulder and gestured towards the inn, "Think that will do for the men? Then we can go up to the castle to pay our respects to Lord Grafton?" Robert nodded quickly, eyes darting about the inn's exterior as he did so. Artys leaned to his other side and repeated the question to Ned who also nodded approvingly. Looking back at his men, who had formed their own pocket of calm in the square's center, Artys gestured to them to follow and turned his horse for the inn. The crowds parted easily enough, with only a handful of dirty looks until they saw the sigil on his chest, and he quickly made his way to the entrance of the inn.

The flagstoned courtyard was empty except for a single stableboy standing idly near the entrance of the stables on the far end of the yard. Seeing nearly thirty armored horsemen came in the boy quickly scrambled within the stable as Artys and his men dismounted. Artys himself was busy stroking his horses nose when footsteps approached him from behind. Turning he was greeted with a long limbed man with a thick black beard, eyeing Artys and his companions critically and with half a dozen more men standing behind him.

Bowing respectfully the bearded man, obviously the stablemaster or a more experienced groom coughed before speaking, "Good day m'lord. Take it you'll be needing stabling for your horses?"

Artys gave him a nod, "We do, a stall and feed for each of the horses if you can, and a rub down for them as well. Except these three, just a quick bag of feed for them and a drink." He gestured to his horse as well as Ned's and Robert's, "We'll be leaving again momentarily."

The man nodded, chewing his lip thoughtfully, "Aye we can manage that m'lord, it might be a little tight if anyone else comes in but we can manage it." He looked over his shoulder and barked a command, sending the other men scrambling to take horses and begin guiding them into the stable. Turning back to Artys the man's eyes turned thoughtful as he evidentally did some calculations, "That'll be a star a head m'lord. You plan on staying more than tonight?"

Counting out four silver stags and a pair of copper stars from his purse Artys pressed them into the man's hand, "We'll see about it. Keep whatever extra there is."

Grinning widely the man took the reins of Artys horse and gently led the mount towards the stable as Artys turned back towards the inn. Striding for the entrance Artys listened to the sound of booted feet falling in behind him. Inside the inn was less than halfway full, with several long tables lining the common room and two stout hearths burning merrily against the cold. The patrons who where inside mostly looked to be sellswords and sailors, a handful of poorer merchants scattered among them. They where gathered near one of the hearths, listening and watching as a fair haired young man played a fiddle from a stool beside the fireplace and a pretty young woman sang a song about some famous knight or another.

Most of Artys men quickly filed off to the tables as Artys, Robert and Ned made their way to an aging woman behind the counter. The woman greeted them with a smile, "Welcome m'lords! How may I serve you today? Ale to warm you? Or food for your bellies?"

Artys smiled politely to the woman, "My thanks mistress, but we won't be staying long. I've merely come to ask that you feed my men and let them sleep in your common room tonight, and possibly the next as well."

The woman nodded cheerily, "Oh yes m'lord, no problems there. No rooms for yourself or your knights? I've fine rooms upstairs, and my girls are always accomodating." A greedy sparkle filled her eyes as she smiled far more slyly than Artys had expected.

Before Robert could respond however he shook his head, "Three rooms for my knights mistress. As for the three of us, we shall see. Though I'd be forever grateful if you'd keep three rooms open just in case."

Again the innkeeper nodded, though the sly look remained in place, "Very good m'lord. You'll understand my caution however if I ask for payment now, you've a large group after all."

Fishing a gold dragon from his purse Artys laid it on the bartop, keeping it covered with one hand as he did so until the innkeeper took it. The greedy sparkle returned only to be snuffed out by another cheery smile as the woman tucked the coin in her apron and darted off through a door behind the counter, hopefully to rouse her serving girls and cooks. Turning back to his men once more Artys strode through them to where their captain was seated, "Becken." The burly guardsman looked up questioningly, "We're going to the castle. You have command here, your food and beds are already paid for. Try to keep the men from getting to drunk? We'll hopefully be sailing tomorrow."

Becken gave a curt nod and turned back to his men, starting to pass the news on. As he did so Ser Markus and the other two knights Sers Mikael and Landren began to stand. Artys signalled them to return to their seats as he strode to them, "I want you three to head down to the docks once you've eaten. Ask around about ships going north, see if you can't book passage for me, Ned and Robert, and as many of the men as you can. We likely won't find a ship willing to take all of us at once, so the rest will return home from here." Turning to Ser Markus he jerked his head at the men-at-arms, then at his cousins, Andar and Albar where sitting in the midst of the soldiers listening to one of them tell a story with wide eyes, "Keep an eye on them, don't let them get to rowdy. We'll be back before dusk unless we're staying in the keep. Otherwise we'll send a messenger."

The grey haired knight nodded his assent as Artys turned to the door, where Robert and Ned where already waiting for him. Striding outside they found their horses still waiting, a lone stableboy just removing the feed bags from their noses. Artys passed the boy a copper star as he mounted, and the boy scampered away with a coughed thanks.

They where halfway to the keep on the far side of the city when Robert spoke, "Why didn't we just see if Lord Grafton could house the men in his barracks? I'm sure he has room, and we'd have saved a pretty penny on stabling and feeding the men."

Ned snorted derisively, "You don't pay attention worth a lick Robert. We talked about his last night, Lord Grafton and Lord Arryn aren't on the best of terms lately. Lord Marq isn't fond of the latest taxes that Lord Arryn sent out. Thinks that Gulltown's tariffs are unfair compared to the rest of the Vale's."

Artys nodded in agreement, "Aye, and we don't want to push his hospitality. Especially since he's been trying to convince father to betroth me to his eldest daughter, and father's been turning him down. Lord Grafton might not even let us stay within his walls tonight."

Robert muttered sheepishly after a moment, "Oh...But aren't you friends with his son? Skinny lad, stayed at the Gates not to long ago. Gerard?"

Artys chuckled, "Gerold, Lord Grafton's second. Aye we're friends, or near enough at least. But I'm not the lord of the Eyrie and he's not the lord of Gulltown so that doesn't help much."

The rest of the ride was passed in relative silence, only broken up by merchants yelling for their attention. Calls that fell silent as they reached the district nearest to the castle, shops and taverns giving way to sprawling mansions, homes of wealthy merchants and minor nobles who lived in or near the city. Gull's Rest itself was not a particularly tall or impressive keep especially when one grew up in the shadow of castle's like the Eyrie or the Gates of the Moon. But it was strong enough, with three stout towers behind a single tall curtain wall.

Here too the gates where open, flanked by two men on either side, far more attentive men than the guards at the city gate. They allowed passage without a word, merely waving Artys and company though to the courtyard. Here nearly forty men stood at attention, forming a path that led to the steps of the main tower, where the Grafton's themselves where gathered.

A handful of stablehands ran out to collect their horses as Artys, Robert and Ned dismounted. Then just as quickly vanished with them into the stables as the three young men made their way towards Lord Grafton and his family. Artys caught Ned whispering under his breath as they walked, "Bit much isn't it?"

Indeed he couldn't disagree with his friend, usually lords simply invited visitors to be greeted in the great hall. This was the first time he'd ever had the lord turn out his household guard and greet him in the courtyard, and it felt strange. Maybe Lord Grafton was trying to make up for recent strains on his relationship with the Eyrie with this however.

Lord Grafton himself bowed low as the three of them approached, the tall middle aged lord smiling as he greeted them, "Welcome my lords to Gulltown, I hope your journey was a pleasant one."

Robert chuckled, "Pleasant as can be in bloody winter."

That caught the big man an elbow in the ribs from Ned as Artys bowed in return, giving an apologetic smile, "That we did my lord. It is a pleasure to see you again, its been to long."

Lord Grafton gave an understanding nod and chuckled, "Nearly a year I believe. I believe you saw my son Gerold much more recently however." The lord gestured to his younger son, a tall but lanky young man who nodded familiarly to Artys, Robert and Ned. "However I don't believe you've ever had the chance to meet my elder son, Terrence, or my daughter, Bethany." A hard eyed young man with dark hair spilling about his shoulders bowed politely as a pretty girl, no more than three and ten, gave a shy curtsy, her eyes looking anywhere other than Artys as she did so.

Artys bowed to each of them, "I have not had the honor, Ser Terrence, Lady Bethany." He managed to keep his voice from cracking as he spoke to the young girly, and thanked the gods for that as he straightened and turned back to her father.

For an instant Lord Grafton's eyes flitted hopefully between Artys and his daughter before he regained his composure. A look of almost disapointment came to his face in the instant before his mask fell in place and he gestured for the keep, "Please enter Lord Artys, we have just preparred a midday meal. Perhaps you and your companions can join us? I hear you're headed north to Winterfell after all. We'd love to hear of the north from young Lord Stark."

 **Robert Baratheon**

Robert heaved over the side of the merchant cog as it rocked heavily with the waves. Four days at sea and the damn ship hadn't stopped lurching like a drunk the entire time. He watched as the little bit of food he'd managed to eat that morning went streaming down into the water below, accompanied by a healthy amount of what he hoped was wine.

They'd begun the second half of their voyage to the north on a high note, clear skies and fair winds, the water halfway calm. Until they'd hit the open ocean just outside of the harbor of Sisterton, then it'd gone to all seven hells faster than Robert could drink the memory away. He'd always hated ships, always, and watching his parent's ship break apart in that storm _within sight_ of Storm's End had done much to reinforce that hatred. But they where the only way to go North with winter freezing all the passes out of the Vale shut, so here he was.

Stumbling backwards Robert found himself leaning against the mast and slowly allowed himself to sink down so he sat at its base. He closed his eyes hoping that it would help the sickness fade as he tried to regain his composure. At least the stop in Sisterton hadn't been to bad, people called the Sistermen smugglers, pirates and cutthroats but they hadn't seemed all that bad to him.

Lord Sunderland had greeted them somewhat cooly but the man had been a gracious host. Feeding them well and sharing stories about his adventures sailing the Narrow Sea in his younger days. Adventures that Robert wouldn't have minded replicating if they didn't involve bloody ships. The Lord of the Three Sisters had been a far better host than that pompous prick Lord Grafton back in Gulltown. All he'd wanted to talk about was trade, and wouldn't Artys mention to his father how much better trade would be if the tariffs where just a _little_ lower. Not to mention the man had spent the entire time practically throwing his daughter at Artys. A pretty lass to be honest, but to quiet for Robert's tastes, and to skinny too.

Booted feet thumped on the deck next to him and stopped and Robert cracked an eyelid to see who it was, then quickly shut it again as he caught sight of the mast rocking above him. The damn sickness was coming back! After a brief moment of panic he managed to choke it down and croak out a few words surprising himself with how slurred they where, "What do you want Ned?"

He could hear the smile in his friends words as he spoke, "Just came up to check on you. Artys said he thought it was raining blood, then he realized it was you spewing wine over the side again and thought one of us should make sure you where okay."

Robert growled halfheartedly and made to stand, managing it with one hand on the mast, as long as he didn't look up from the deck he'd be fine, "Shut your trap Ned. Don't want to hear it. I'm cold, I'm fucking wet, and I hate this gods dammed ship more and more with every moment. So you better have a good reason to be up here or I'll throw us both over the side and see if that doesn't ease my suffering."

There was a brief moment of silence before Ned began to chuckle, "Captain says we should be coming into view of White Harbor shortly. Thought I'd tell you so you could begin praising the gods, and Artys wants to see you in the cabin if you're not _predisposed_ I believe his words where."

Robert straightened and instantly regretted it as the ship lurched again, why did this damn thing move so much? Growling once more he began to make his way towards the cabins at the rear of the ship, "Couldn't come and get me himself could he?"

Ned sounded amused, "Actually he's just about as sick as you, only he's got the good sense not to be up here staring at the sky and drinking in attempts to make it worse." Robert stumbled as the ship hit a particularly bad wave, and Ned grunted as he helped steady him, "As it is I'm fairly certain you couldn't catch me if you wanted to throw me overboard. Much less manage to heave yourself over the side."

Robert cursed his friend and batted him across the shoulder with one hand, not to hard though, he wasn't entirely certain if he could stand without Ned right now. Slowly the two of them descended into the cabin of the ship. Artys was sitting upon one of their shared cabin's three cots, looking slightly pale and wain. Looking up though Artys started in surprise, "Gods Robert, you look like you've been dragged through all seven hells, twice."

Cursing again Robert allowed Ned to help settle him on one of the other cots in the room. The thin straw mattress helping take some of the rocking out of the ship oddly enough. Artys ran a hand through his hair and spoke first, "Ned pass on the captain's message?"

Ned nodded and Robert grunted, so Artys carried on, "Figured we should go over what to expect in White Harbor. I remember a little from our lessons but Ned you're our best authority. How will the Manderly's greet us?"

Ned shrugged, "They where southern once, and they kept some of their traditions from then. They'll greet us just like any other house, with bread and salt, maybe a feast." Robert gagged slightly at the thought of food, though neither of his friends seemed to notice. Ned carried on, "Given the fact that its winter and we're down to a dozen men he might offer us guides and guards for the trip to Winterfell. Don't know how bad bandits have been lately, but he'll want to see us there safe. Definitely furs and supplies, horses too."

Robert managed to remember that much, they'd left their horses and half their guardsmen in Gulltown, to many to fit on board the ship the captain had said. So Ser Markus had been ordered to take the men who wouldn't be carrying on back to the Eyrie. The other two knights had stayed with them though, as had eight of the guardsmen and both of Artys' cousins. The fact that the two Royces hadn't gotten sea sick in the slightest was enough that Robert wanted to bash both of the little shits over the head right now. Maybe he would in fact, Artys might not mind, he was sick too.

As Robert opened his mouth to put forward the idea Artys instead spoke, "Well hopefully he'll let us rest for a day or two as well. I haven't slept since this bloody storm opened up." Robert bobbed his head in agreement, though he had managed a few bits of sleep here and there, they where mostly under the influence of large amounts of wine though. He idly wondered if their was more wine in the ship somewhere, he'd brought most of what was onboard with him, thinking it might help settle his stomach. Still maybe the captain had some somewhere, a nice arbor gold would be lovely right now.

He was snapped back to reality as he realized that Artys was talking to him, "-better get you cleaned up Robert. You look like you just crawled out of a gutter." Ned was nodding in agreement as he reached for a water basin and offered it to Robert. Almost like he was watching his own hands move without him actually controlling them Robert began to wash. Though the rocking of the ship made it difficult.

The sea water in the basin was _fucking cold_ , was the first thought to enter Robert's mind. The frigid water snapping his mind back to some small level of sobriety as he managed to scrub his face clean without spilling the entire basin across the room. After that he managed to struggle into a clean shirt and pull on cloak over it, watching as Artys did the same. His friend pulling on his shadowskin cloak as usual, for a moment Robert revelled in the memory of how Artys' had gotten that cloak, and one hand reached up to the leather cord around his neck. On that cord hung two great fangs from the shadowcat that was now Artys' cloak, a reminder of that adventure.

Now dressed the two of them staggered out on deck, using eachother for support. Artys looked much less pale now that he'd washed and put on a new shirt, and Robert hoped he'd improved half as much as his friend. Ned and the Royces where already on deck, standing on the bow and staring ahead, watching as a great grey shape emerged from the afternoon fog.

The shape turned into a massive stone castle, rotting apart and situated on a rocky island connected to another island by a narrow stone bridge. Their cog sailed directly underneath it and Robert noticed that another castle was atop the second island. This one newer and slightly smaller, banners decorated with mermen flapping from its spires. Ahead of them in the harbor formed by the two islands and great stone sea wall, a city appeared from the mist.

Proud white walls surrounded it and the familiar sound of calling gulls filled the air. Ned shouted above the filthy birds so that he could be heard, pointing at the older castle as he did so, "That's the Wolf's Den, the King's in the North built it a thousand years ago to fend off the Sistermen!"

Robert nodded along with his friends words, scarcely listening as he was nearly overcome with the sight of land. Then the smell hit, if Gulltown had smelled like baking bread, woodsmoke and wool, then White Harbor smelled much different like fish and salt. Like the sea to the almost village like smell of Gulltown. The cold was worse than Robert had dared dream, biting at him like a wolf as he stood on the cog's deck. Only a few ships huddled in White Harbor's grasp however, and he wasn't made to suffer the cold for long as their ship expertly glided in to the docks.

There men on shore quickly moored them in place and laid a gangplank across to the cog. Robert was the first one down, marveling in the feel of solid land beneath his boots as he did so. Ned wasn't far behind, and Robert noticed that the shorter man had the biggest grin he'd ever seen nearly splitting his face in half. Clapping Robert on the back Ned laughed out loud, "Welcome to White Harbor Robert. Welcome to the North."

 **Author's Note: So yeah sorry if not much happened in this chapter, I just couldn't justify it to myself, skipping straight to Winterfell, and there wasn't much to do in the Vale for now. So here's a filler chapter. Thanks to everyone who was kind enough to favorite or follow, and for all the reviews. I won't spoil who Artys will end up paired with just yet, to be honest I haven't really decided for myself yet. Apologies for the grammar ticks that Hail King Cerion mentioned, I'm kind of just doing this myself and I tend not to notice them very easily. Thanks for all the suggestions, especially Warsameking, suggestions are always welcome. Also somebody I believe somebody mentioned that they envisioned Artys as looking like Liam Hemsworth, I can kinda see that being a thing. Hope you all enjoyed it and I'll keep working on getting you guys more, though not as quickly as this chapter came generally.**

 **-S**


	3. Chapter 3

**Lyanna Stark**

Lyanna ran through the halls of Winterfell, laughing as she went. Behind her she could here Benjen panting and struggling to keep up with her, calling out occasionally for her to slow down. Ignoring him she carried on, determined to reach the courtyard in time. One of the guards had just told her the news, Ned's party had been spotted on the horizon.

It had been _eight years_ since her middle brother left, eight years with only a handful of visits scattered over the course of them. The last visit had been more than a year ago, and Ned had been so much like she remembered, serious and brooding, but immensely happy to be home. He'd gone on about their adventures in the Vale, with his foster brothers, Artys and Robert. Lyanna had been so jealous, father wouldn't let her have adventures like that. The closest she got these days was when she was allowed to go riding.

Usually it would be Brandon and Benjen who went with her then, and they didn't care if she raced them and didn't act like a lady. Lyanna loved those chances to be free, almost as she loved her sparring lessons with Benjen in the godswood.. Lessons that she and her youngest brother took every precaution they could think of to keep secret from their father. In truth though Benjen wasn't a very good teacher, she was a better blade than him and he could only pass on more lessons as he was taught them by Ser Rodrick, the master-at-arms.

Shoving open the door to the courtyard Lyanna was struck across the face with a lash of the bitter northern cold. It didn't bother her much though, she was dressed warmly in furs and a stout woolen dress that her father had insisted she wear to greet the visitors. Father was demanding that she act like a lady when Ned and his friends arrived. He said that her future husband, Robert Baratheon, would be among them and she needed to impress him by being a proper lady.

Lyanna wasn't to thrilled by the idea of marrying the southern lord, especially since she'd only Ned's stories to go off of. True Ned said he was brave and handsome and charming, but he'd also mentioned that his friend had a wandering eye when it came to women, and that worried her. How could she love a man she'd never met who was with a different woman every other night, even after they where married. Sighing Lyanna tugged her furs tighter about herself and strode across the yard.

Brandon and his squire, Ethan Glover, where sparring just inside the main gate, Brandon trying to give the younger man pointers as he struck his pupil's blade aside again and again. Not that he appeared to be having much luck, Lyanna could see that Ethan's foot work was off and he wasn't keeping his shield high enough to block Brandon's counter attacks. Still the boy was doggedly trying to follow Brandon's advice as it came.

Brandon parried another of Ethan's strikes, "No Ethan, you're not stepping with the strike like I said. You're not a tree, don't root yourself to the ground like one." Brandon began to move as he spoke, launching a pair of strikes against the now frantically defending Ethan, "You want to move as you fight, make your opponent guess as to where your next strike will come from."

Lyanna turned away from the two and looked at the gates, they where open as always, snow whipping in light flurries outside them as she watched. Above them two guards huddled around a brazier, eyes scanning the road beyond for travelers. She knew that more men where within the two towers flanking the gate, likely huddled about their own fires as they played at dice and sipped warmed ale to keep the cold out of them. Aside from the two guards above the gate and Brandon's sparring match with Ethan the courtyard was empty,everyone was hidden inside against the cold, and Lyanna felt a twinge of sadness because of it.

Ned wouldn't be receiving a grand homecoming, not like he deserved, true father had a decent feast planned for tonight, with a handful of the nearby lords attending. But other than that there where no celebrations prepared for the return of her absent brother. Shaking her head Lyanna strode for the stables, if she was going to be out here waiting for Ned's arrival she may as well do it someplace warm. Besides, she hadn't checked on her horse yet today, and Sygerrik got restless when she didn't see to him.

The stables where the same as they had been her entire life,warm from the heat of the horses and smelling of sweat, horseflesh and hay. Stalls lined both walls, and Lyanna made her way down them to Sygerrik's stall. Most ladies in the Seven Kingdoms rode mares or filly's when they did go riding. But Lyanna had always had a gift with horses, and had managed to convince her father to let her ride a gelding. Sygerrik was a particularly fine example of horseflesh, a tall and muscular grey that Lord Ryswell had given her as a gift during one of her and Brandon's many visits to the Rills and Ryder Hall.

Lyanna reached up and stroked the big horse's nose with one gloved hand, and Sygerrik whickered gently into her hand as he nudged her, looking for treats. Smiling Lyanna ran her other hand along his jaw to rest behind his ear, rubbing the spot gently as she spoke to the horse softly, "No treats for you today my beautiful boy. Hullen says that you've had to many, and you'll get fat if I give you many more."

Sygerrik gave an almost derisive snort into her hand, seemingly in response to her statement, and Lyanna laughed quietly, "I know, I don't believe him either. But you know we have to listen to him. He is the stablemaster after all." The horse snorted once more as if in acceptance, and Lyanna stroked his nose again to calm her.

Behind her she heard the stable door open and close, and Benjen's voice came drifting to her as her younger brother called softly, "Lya? Are you in here?" Rounding the corner Benjen saw her and quickly made his way over, trying to look serious as he whispered to her, "We shouldn't be in here Lya, father said to stay clean, and especially to stay out of the stables."

She stifled a laugh, Benjen was three years her junior, tall for his age at eleven but skinny as a pole. One of her favorite pastimes was playing pranks on her little brother, who usually took them quiet well, but had a tendency of following their father's rules and orders a little to closely. She'd never been able to accept father's restrictions very well, something she and Brandon share. The Wolfsblood their father called it, making them restless and reckless, keen to listen to their hearts over others words.

Just as Lyanna opened her mouth to respond to her brother with a teasing jest, a shout went up outside. She and Ben exchanged glances, and then bolted for the door. They emerged from the stables just as another shout went up from the guards atop the gates. From the flurries outside the gate a party of horsemen where emerging. Nearly forty riders spilled out into the courtyard as the Lyanna and Benjen watched. Most of them where obviously northmen, bearded men clad in furs and plate, the merman of White Harbor on their shields and chests. But at the core of the emerging party was another group, just over a dozen strong, wearing falcons and moons on their surcoats and looking decidedly less comfortable in their furs.

From this smaller group three riders pushed their way to the front. The two men lagging behind the leader where both exceptionally large and rather handsome men, one black haired with a rough stubble and the other blonde with a short but shaggy beard. But it was the lead rider who caught Lyanna's attention. Tall and lean, with medium length brown hair hanging lank about his shoulders and warm grey eyes, _Ned._

Ned and his friends swung easily from their horses as Brandon strode across the courtyard, still clad in his sparring gear, to meet them. Lyanna was moving towards them as the two brothers stopped and seemed to size each other up. Neither seemingly sure how to greet the other after nearly a year without seeing each other. As Brandon opened his mouth to break the silence Lyanna did it for him, screaming happily, "Ned!"

Her brother turned in her direction confusedly, completely unprepared for the flying hug that struck him full in the chest. As Ned stumbled back slightly with a grunt beneath her attack, Lyanna wrapped her arms around him and smiled, "We missed you Ned."

Brandon began laughing as Ned struggled to catch his breath between the hug and the surprise. After a moment though he managed to gasp out a response as he pulled his arms tight around Lyanna, whispering as he did so, "I missed you too Lya." For a moment they held the hug, before Benjen replicated Lyanna's charging hug, this time catching both of them with the maneuver.

Luckily Ned managed to keep his balance as their youngest sibling slammed into them, and even managed a chuckle as Benjen hugged him tightly as well, "And you as well Ben." As Ned struggled to hug them both Lyanna peered out from under Ned's arms at Brandon, cocking an eyebrow meaningfully. The eldest Stark sibling merely laughed and held up his hands, shaking his head as he did so. Until Lyanna jerked her head at him and mouthed "now".

Still laughing Brandon closed with his siblings and wrapped them all in a hug, completing the group hug as the others started laughing as well. After another few moments of embracing they all managed to untangle themselves easily enough, Ned flushing with embarrassment as he realized that his friends had been watching the entire time, both of them smiling with amusement at their foster brother's expense. As they separated Lyanna took a moment to look both of them over.

The blonde one was slightly shorter, but handsomer. His beard was short but shaggy and looked fairly new on his face, at least if the fact that he kept reaching up to itch it was any indication. He was broad shouldered and powerful looking, with massive hands and a large cloak made from a shadowcat that made his already impressive size seem even more imposing. Still there was kindness in his grey eyes, and a sweet gentleness in the brotherly smile that he gave Ned. As the man caught her looking at him he ducked his head, averting his gaze to the ground beneath his boots, an action which made Lyanna smile slightly.

The second man, the darker one, was very different. He stood just a few inches taller than the blonde, and his features where rougher, his beard just stubble and seemingly an after thought. Where his companion wore the falcon and moon of house Arryn this one wore a rearing black stag on gold. Which meant he would be her betrothed, Robert Baratheon. Robert almost reminded her of Brandon when she looked at him with his somewhat cocky smile, the restless look in his eyes, and the way he held his shoulders, it was like he was constantly ready for a fight. When he caught her gaze Robert offered her a wide and charming smile, one which Lyanna returned, playing to her father's wishes for a proper lady.

She turned back to Ned just as he regained his composure enough to begin speaking, "I suppose I should probable introduce you all. Artys, Robert, this is my family. Brandon, my older brother. Lyanna, my sister, and Benjen, the pup." As he spoke he gestured to each of them in turn, Brandon and Benjen giving slight bows as Lyanna curtsied, cursing this dress as she did so. Turning to his friends Ned carried on, "And allow me to introduce, Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End, and Ser Artys Arryn, heir to the Vale."

Robert stepped forward and bowed to Lyanna's brothers, "A pleasure to meet you my lords. Ned's said much about you both." With that the big man took one of Lyanna's hands and kissed the knuckles of it gently, offering her another smile, "And he's said even more about you my lady." As his head was bowed Lyanna shot Ned a suspicious glance Ned's way, what had he mentioned about her? Her brother only smiled back at her innocently.

As Robert stepped away Artys managed his own polite bow, with a muttered, "My lords. My lady Lyanna." For a moment Lyanna was confused, this man was hardly the adventurous and brave Artys Arryn that Ned had mentioned on his last visit. Then she recalled what Ned had said about Artys' being a very quiet person, one who didn't take well to speaking with new people.

With the introductions out of the way they all stood awkwardly for a few moments before Brandon coughed loudly, "Father will be waiting for us in the Great Hall. Fynn will be sure to show your men to a barracks where they can rest, and we'll have the kitchen send them food and ale. Hullen will see to your horses."

Lyanna looked about and noticed that while she'd been occupied with Ned and his friends a handful of guardsmen had appeared from the gatehouse and Hullen and nearly a dozen stableboys now stood in the doorway of the stables. At Brandon's words Hullen and his men darted forward and began taking reins, leading horses into the warmth of the stables as one of the guards nodded and began leading Ned's escort into the keep.

Just two men remained behind from the escort. Two fellows not much older than herself, burly and black haired, looking so much alike they had to be related in some way and with a bronze field covered in black studs on their surcoats. They fell in behind Artys and Lyanna had to think for a moment before placing the sigil, Royces from the Vale. Which meant they where likely Artys' cousins, and maybe even his squires. Realizing that the two had remained Artys smiled apologetically, "These are my cousins, Albar and Andar." Turning to the two of them the Arryn man muttered something that Lyanna couldn't hear and the cousins nodded before trotting off after the rest of the escort.

With that handled their little group began making for the Great Hall. Lyanna and Benjen quickly falling in flanking Ned as Robert walked in front with Brandon, Artys bringing up the rear. After a moment Lyanna noticed that Benjen had dropped back to Artys and was chattering away questions about the Vale and knighthood to the man. Questions which the big Valeman answered cheerfully, slowly seeming to open up to the youngest Stark.

The Great Hall was just a short walk across the courtyard and then down a narrow hallway. Two guardsmen pushed the doors open for them as they approached, and in they all stepped. Winterfell's hall was a massive thing, oaken tables stretching across most of it, before they ended before a raised stone dais. Atop that dais sat the lord's chair, a massive thing carved of ironwood and weirwood, the arm rests carved in the shape of snarling wolves and First Men runes scrawling across the back of it.

In that chair sat Lyanna's father, Lord Rickard Stark was an aging man, tall and lean but with a shaggy brown beard starting to go to grey. He watched them with the same grey eyes he'd passed on to all of his children, not saying a word as the little group crossed the hall. Lyanna suppressed a satisfied smirk as she saw Robert and Artys both look around the hall in amazement while they crossed it. But when they reached her father she made sure that smirk was hidden deep.

Their column fanned out so that the six young nobles now stood in a rough line before the dais, Robert, Ned and Artys on one side and the remaining Stark children on the other. Lyanna held her breath as her father remained silent for a moment, scanning over them all with that quiet intensity that he'd always maintained. After a moment though he stood from his seat and spoke, "Ned. Its good to see you son, its been far to long since you last visited." He turned to Artys and Robert, "Lord Baratheon, Ser Artys, welcome to Winterfell."

 **Artys Arryn**

Artys sighed happily as he looked out over the courtyard of Winterfell. It had been two days since he'd arrived in the fortress of the Starks and he had to admit that the place surpassed his wildest expectations. The massive fortress sprawled far larger than even the Gates of the Moon did, with two thick walls surrounding the main keep. Winterfell had a sort of ancient beauty about it, not like the Eyrie's lofty white towers, but a beauty that came from the strength in its walls.

The Starks themselves had made the castle all the more impressive. They'd greeted Artys and Robert with great hospitality. Brandon Stark was a charming man, a year Artys senior at eighteen namedays and nearly as tall as him. The Stark heir had shown the around his home personally and had sparred with them after the tour. Artys had to admit he was a fine swordsman, managing after a close fight to best Robert and putting Artys through a stiff battle before he'd managed to disarm the Stark. Which had caused Brandon to laugh and clap him on the back, promising that Artys would never replicate the feat.

Lyanna was much like her older brother it seemed, well at least from the handful of glimpses that Artys had caught of her when he wasn't studying his boots. She was as beautiful as Ned had said, though Artys couldn't help but think her beauty was like Winterfell's almost, coming from a sort of wild strength that Lyanna carried about herself. Though she'd been a finely behaved noble lady for most of the time that Artys had been around he'd caught glimpses of that strength, primarily in the form of a fire in her eyes when she was annoyed or excited. Still, Lyanna clearly loved her brother's very much and Artys had the feeling that Robert would have his hands full with her.

Benjen, the youngest of the Starks, was a fine lad too, eager for Artys' tales of the south and for help with his swordsmanship, especially after watching Artys beat Brandon. Something which the boy said that no one in Winterfell had managed to do in years. He'd asked Artys to help him spar after that, and Artys couldn't think of a reason to say no to him. So they'd spent half the morning today in the sparring yard.

Meanwhile Brandon and Robert had slipped off into the Wolfswood to go hunting, saying that they'd return the next evening, and Ned was speaking with his father, something that he'd been doing often since their arrival. So now, with the lesson done and Benjen having run off to do whatever it was northmen did in the winter, Artys was left to his own devices.

Artys glanced around the courtyard once more, noting how quiet it was. Only three people where in sight, a pair of guardsman manning the gate and a lone servant splitting wood next to the stables. Ignoring the three of them Artys allowed his eyes to settle on the gate to one side of the courtyard. Brandon had mentioned that through that gate lay the godswood, which Winterfell had actually been built _around_. Artys remembered all the tales that Ned had told on the way here about the godswood of Winterfell and its beauty.

Shrugging he looked up at the sun, it was only mid morning, still hours until the midday meal, he might as well have a look at the godswood while he had the chance, besides he'd been curious to see it the entire journey here. Moving across the courtyard Artys pushed open the postern gate set into the larger gate and slipped through. What he was greeted with took his breath away.

There where no paths here like he'd seen in the handful of godswoods that remained in the Vale. No carefully groomed groves of trees and beds of flowers. It was wild here, ancient ironwoods and firs standing as if, by the hand of some giant god, a forest had been lifted from its rightful place and dropped to nestle within the walls of Winterfell. Little light filtered down through the thick branches above, but what light there was revealed a ground littered with gnarled roots and with only a slightly clearer patch of earth that might have been a path snaking into the trees.

Stepping carefully into the godswood Artys made his way towards the heart of the grove, staring about him in wonder. The cold seemed to be less here even, and he no longer felt chilled in his sweat soaked sparring clothes as he walked among the trees. As he made his way towards the center, following the slight trail before him, a noise began to reach his ears. At first it was merely the soft sound of rustling leaves and wind among the trunks that could be heard, yet now there was another sound joining it. The clack of wood on wood, coming in fits and bursts. Series of clashes and then periods of silence.

Curiosity growing Artys delved deeper into the wood, his focus slipping from his surroundings to the sounds ahead of him. Soon voices, soft and muffled by thick trunks between him and them, joined the sound of clashing wood. Artys began to watch his steps, eager for a glimpse at whom would be sparring, for that is what the noise had to be, in the godswood. Stepping over another root the heart of the wood came into view.

Standing proud in the center of the godswood was a massive heart tree, one that dwarfed Artys' one on the Giant's Lance. No trees grew around it for thirty paces, and Artys couldn't help but see it as subjects bowing away before their king. Four steaming pools surrounded the great weirwood, and Artys guessed them to be some of the hot springs that Ned said warmed the walls of Winterfell. But it was what was fighting in the center of the clearing that gave Artys pause.

Two small figures armed with wooden training swords danced in the shadow of the great weirwood. One was taller, thin and slightly gawky, and after a few moments Artys realized it was Benjen, so this was what the boy had run off so urgently to do after their sparring match. The second figure was both shorter and slighter than the Stark boy, wearing dirty sparring clothes to large for their slim frame. A similarly battered leather helm hid their features as they fought with Benjen, moving with speed and grace to meet the larger boy's attacks head on.

Watching the fight unfold Artys noted that the smaller fighter was the more skilled combatant and was holding their ground well against Benjen, despite his advantages in reach and strength. Thought the smaller figure's footwork and the way they held a sword where slightly off, something that any decent master-at-arms could fix. So maybe they hadn't had a formal training?Artys settled in behind an ironwood to continue observing the battle, curiousity still piqued.

The fight wore on for another few minutes, deadlocked. It was then that Benjen managed to sweep his opponent's legs from under him with a well placed leg. Artys smiled, he'd taught the boy that move less than an hour ago when _they'd_ sparred. Benjen's maneuver sent his foe sprawling and their helmet tumbling from their head.

Artys smile faded to shock as he saw who was beneath it. Lyanna Stark. The polite and stately young lady who he had seen about Winterfell for the past two days was gone. In her place was a sweaty and fierce young woman who looked like she belonged on a battlefield, her eyes alight with the joy of the fight. Yet for an instant Artys couldn't help but think that it did nothing to diminish her beauty. Pushing the thought from his head Artys watched as Lyanna stood and laughed with her brother at her defeat, "Well fought Ben, I think that might be the first time you've actually beaten me."

Benjen responded to her teasing words with a wide grin of his own, "Ser Artys showed me that earlier. Did you see him fight Brandon? He's got to be one of the best swords I've ever seen!"

Artys tried to keep from smiling at the young boy's words of praise for him, flattered as he was. Lyanna just shook her head and chuckled however, "I saw him alright, I don't think anyone's ever beaten Brandon like that. Hurt his pride a little bit, no matter how much he smiled."

Benjen carried on even as she spoke, seemingly not hearing his sister's response as he chattered on, "And his cloak! Did you hear how he got it? He killed the shadowcat himself, with a hunting knife, when he was just thirteen!"

This time Lyanna reached out and poked her brother in the chest gently with her practice sword, "Is that a little bit of hero worship I hear Ben?" Lyanna's voice was still teasing, yet Benjen flushed red slightly from embarrassment.

Lyanna's teasing tone vanished as she looked up at the sun, barely visible through the canopy overhead, "We've got time for you to show me what Artys taught you in the yard if we hurry, and maybe one more bout before I have to go get ready for the midday meal." She looked down at herself and her voice became somewhat bemused, "Father will throw a fit if he sees me like this, especially with guests in the keep."

That raised Artys' eyebrow, so their father didn't know they where sparring here? Thinking back to the quiet but rigidly proud lord he'd seen in the great hall Artys didn't actually find that very surprising. Lord Stark seemed like the kind of lord who, while he might dote upon his daughter, would never allow her to get away with something like this if he knew.

Settling once more behind his tree Artys watched Benjen struggle to show Lyanna the stances and the footwork Artys had shown him earlier in the yard. After watching Benjen demonstrate it imperfectly Artys sighed to himself and began to stride out into the clearing, if they where going to learn they may as well do it right. Neither Stark child heard him as he approached, Benjen staring at Lyanna's feet and sword as he tried to get her into the right position, "I think that's right. Artys called it the, Dragon's Tail."

Artys coughed lightly and spoke, "Actually her left foot's not cocked enough, and she's holding the blade to high, it should be coming down from her hip to just a few inches off the ground."

Both Stark's jumped in surprise, Benjen stumbling away from his sister with wide eyes as his mouth worked like a fish trying to breathe air. Lyanna on the other hand spun in place and merely stared at Artys, her eyes even wider than her brothers and her face holding a look of pure terror and horror the like of which Artys had never seen. The look of someone who'd just seen all their dreams and happiness crushed in a single mailed gauntlet.

Artys merely waited for a moment as both of the young warriors tried to gain some sense of composure. It was Benjen who managed to find his words first, stumbling as they where, "Ser Artys! We where just, uh I was just...I was..." He trailed off into silence when he couldn't come up with a credible excuse. Meanwhile Lyanna's face just darkened with every word out of her brothers mouth.

Artys shook his head and gave them both a slight smile, "Benjen I think it's fairly obvious what you're doing here. Correct?" Benjen nodded slowly, his face turning dejected. Ignoring the boy's misery Artys instead turned to Lyanna, "Well? Let's see it?"

Lyanna looked confused, and glanced to Benjen, not that her brother had any input. Sighing Artys gestured to her feet, "Let's see you try the stance again. You where rather close to it last time." Uncertainty replacing the dark look on her face Lyanna shuffled her feet into position and held her sword out behind her, trailing it like a tail. Artys inspected her feet, and nudged one back slightly with his own boot, "There, _that's_ how your feet are supposed to go. No fault on Benjen, I didn't show him it more than twice."

Now he stepped back, and gestured for Lyanna to continue, "Now show me the rest of your forms."

This time Lyanna jumped to the request more quickly, dropping into a more familiar guard which she was obviously comfortable with. She moved from that to another, then another, and on through all the basic forms that every squire or guardsman was taught. By the time she was through Artys was nodding once more, "Not bad. Now start them again."

As she started the forms again Artys stopped her in each one, telling her to pull an elbow in tighter here, cock a foot more there, shift the point of her blade up just so. For a quarter hour he helped her through her forms, then looked up at the sun just as Lyanna had before. Smiling he looked back to her, "Well we've a little time before the midday meal, wouldn't you say so?"

Lyanna slowly nodded this time, aside from a handful of quick questions she'd been quiet during the time which Artys had corrected her forms, clearly uncertain. Artys glanced to Benjen, who was watching the two of them, still confused. Giving a quick whistle to get the boy's attention Artys gestured to Benjen's sword as the boy's head snapped around, "Let me see that would you?"

Benjen tossed the blade to him after a moment's hesitation, and Artys caught it easily. Lyanna's gaze turned suspicious once more as he backed away from her, swinging the sword experimentally. Once about five paces separated them Artys stopped and gave her a grin, "Well? Come at me. Lets see how good you are Lyanna."

 **Author's Note: So yeah, I lied. This chapter came a lot sooner than I thought it would. But hey what can I say? I'm full of ideas right now and this sure beats my math homework. To answer a few questions that someone asked; Artys would be around Jaime's level of skill with a sword, maybe a little bit better. Also women are generally attracted to him, but he never plays up on it so he kinda just flies under the radar for most of them. And before everyone gets excited because ArtysXLyanna, I'm not entirely certain that's where this is gonna go as of yet. So just hold your horses and we'll see what happens shall we?**

 **I'd genuinly like to thank you all for following this, I never dreamed I'd get so many followers when I started writing this. Much less over a hundred in less than a week! Thank you all a ton. As always feel free to review, I'd love the feedback and suggestions. And I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Until nextime**

 **-S**


	4. Chapter 4

**Lyanna Stark**

Lyanna stared sullenly at the leaves of the great weirwood above her, her thoughts drifting idly. She'd spoken with her father again this morning, begging him to break her betrothal to Robert. Again he'd refused and this time he'd grown angry at her request, angry enough that they'd wound up shouting at each other. Eventually she'd given up and stormed out, and now Lyanna found herself hiding here in the godswood. It was hardly the first time she'd clashed with her father about his plans to marry her to Robert Baratheon, but Lyanna couldn't recall a time that it had ended like that.

In the past they'd been civil discussions for the most part, and her father had listened to her concerns and tried to appease them. Yet now, with the marriage drawing ever closer and Robert here in Winterfell he'd lost his patience it seemed. Sighing Lyanna looked down from the boughs of the weirwood, her eyes scanning the clearing at its base. The glade was especially quiet today, the hot springs scattered around it warming the frigid air to a tolerable level.

Lyanna smiled slightly at the sight of it, she'd spent a great deal of the last fortnight here in the godswood. More so than usual in fact. Almost every day for the last two weeks she'd had sparring matches and swordsmanship lessons here in the godswood with Artys and Benjen. Artys said she'd improved vastly given the short period of time, and that Lyanna had a gift for blades. Usually when men said things like that to her Lyanna assumed they where trying to flatter her and gain her favor. Yet when Artys said it he seemed to mean it, and with a tone to it almost as if they where equals.

The past two weeks meant that Lyanna had come to know Artys fairly well, and she had to admit that she like the Arryn knight. He was kind, polite, and a fine teacher, even if he did still go red as a beet every time he spoke to a woman. In his time here at Winterfell Lyanna had found herself periodically seeking him out, and not just for their sparring sessions. She couldn't help it, despite his awkwardness Lyanna felt comfortable around the big man, and liked speaking with him. Though she had to admit that part of his appeal lay in the fact that he was perhaps the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

Artys had told her dozens of stories of his time in the Vale with Ned and Robert. From the tale behind his shadowskin cloak to stories about his hounds back at the Gates of the Moons, apparently he had one of the finest packs in the Vale. In return Lyanna had told him stories of the North, of riding through the Rills and the tales of various Kings in the North and their wars with Kings Beyond the Wall. They'd spent hours laughing and telling those stories, sometimes with Ned and Benjen there, others with just the two of them.

Lyanna had spent the rest of the past fortnight with Ned when she could, and with Robert when her father insisted. The Stormlander had proven to be everything she feared. He was polite and charming when it suited him, but Lyanna had caught glimpses of him when he thought she wasn't near, and had listened to what the servants said. Robert was boisterous and had a love for food and wine, just as Ned had said. More than once she'd caught him looking at the rears of passing maids, and she'd even been told by one of the servants that the guards who had come north with Ned and his friends had been overheard talking about the bastard Robert had left behind in the Vale.

Lyanna had even gone so far as to ask Ned about that rumor, and her brother had reluctantly confirmed that Robert did indeed have a bastard daughter in the Vale. Artys had just as reluctantly admitted to the girl's existence when Lyanna asked him about her as well. Both of them had tried to defend Robert despite that revelation, saying that it had been before he had been betrothed to her. Yet Lyanna had seen his glances at the maids, she didn't doubt that when she married Robert, _if_ she married Robert, he wouldn't keep to her bed for long.

She could not abide that, and that had been the heart of her conversation with her father this morning. The sound of a gentle cough yanked Lyanna from her thoughts, and she snapped her head around so fast that her vision blurred slightly at the edges. Ned stood at the edge of the clearing, eyeing her cautiously. After a moment of staring at each other, Ned broke the silence, "You talked to father again."

It wasn't a question, yet Lyanna found herself nodding anyway. A sympathetic look crossed her brother's face as Ned moved towards her, silent until he settled onto a small boulder just before her, "I take it that it didn't go well."

Lyanna resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she shook her head, "When does talking to father ever go well Ned?" She sat up slightly straighter as she felt the fire beginning to burn in her belly, "No matter how much I try to talk to him, to _tell him_. He listens, but it's like he doesn't _hear_ me. He's so caught up in his idea of a pretty marriage between me and some mighty southern lord." Lyanna gave a groan of exasperation and buried her head in her arms, it was all to much if she carried on she'd only make it worse, more anger wouldn't help. No matter how right it felt.

Ned was silent for another few moments, "You really don't want to marry him, do you?"

She peered out from between her arms, Ned's face was solemn as always, but his eyes where sadder than usual. Silently Lyanna shook her head, eyes never leaving her brothers face. For all her questions she'd asked him about Robert she'd never said the words to Ned. She watched as Ned reached up and ran one hand through his hair, sighing softly, "May I ask why?"

Now it was Lyanna's turn to sigh, "I don't love him Ned. I've seen the way he looks at other women when he thinks I'm not around, and you told me about his bastard back in the Vale. If I marry him there's no chance he'll stay faithful. I can't forgive that."

Ned's mouth tightened, though she saw the understanding in his eyes, Lord Arryn had put a strong sense of honor into her brother in all those years in the Vale, at least from what she'd seen. That honor did not like the idea of his future good brother dishonoring his sister. Yet for all his honor Ned was nothing if not loyal, and again he tried to defend his friend, "Robert loves you Lya. Maybe you can't see it but he does. Shouldn't that count for something?"

Lyanna barked out a bitter laugh, "It should Ned, but it doesn't. Love is worthless if he takes another woman to bed each night." This time the silence was longer, and Lyanna stared at her brother for nearly a score of heartbeats before the sound of distant laughter caught their attention. Ned's brow furrowed as the sound approached and Lyanna felt a seed of terror growing in her belly.

From the trees of the godswood Artys and Benjen emerged, clad in their padded sparring armor and each carrying a pair of wooden training swords and a shield. Benjen appeared to be in the midst of telling the valeman a story, a story that died on his lips as he saw the glade beneath the heart tree was occupied. Both of them stopped in their tracks, and Artys brows furrowed in confusion to match Ned's. Lyanna felt a moment of panic as she realized that she was likely still red faced and puffy from her argument with her father earlier, Artys couldn't see her like this. That panic receded only slightly as she realized Artys had seen her far worse in the past few weeks during their sparring sessions.

Concern reflected in Artys' eyes as he looked at her before flicking his gaze to Ned, "Sorry Ned, Lyanna. We thought the godswood would be empty." The big man looked mildly uncomfortable as he gestured behind him, "We can go if you need. Spar in the courtyard."

Ned shook his head, looking from Lyanna to Benjen and Artys, "You're fine Artys. We where just finishing talking. I don't suppose you'd mind if I stayed to watch though? I hear Ben's coming along well with the blade."

Once more Artys' gaze flicked to Lyanna, the concern from before now joined by uncertainty, "You're welcome to stay Ned. Maybe you can spot something that I missed." With that he strode to the heart tree, Benjen following close behind him, the same looks of concern and uncertainty on the youngest Stark's face.

Both of them lay their extra swords against the heart tree, and Benjen managed a sideways glance to Lyanna. He quickly mouthed to her, 'are you alright?' and she nodded in return. Artys on the other hand turned to walk back across the clearing, to the small space of flat ground between two of the pools that usually served as the sparring ground.

Lyanna's eyes followed him as he walked, taking in the surprisingly graceful way that the huge knight moved. In the past weeks he'd shaved the short beard that he'd worn when he'd arrived, claiming it had only been to keep out the cold, and now his face was clear except for a light stubble just starting to grow back. It left him looking younger than Ned, and gave him a certain look of innocence about him that Lyanna couldn't help but enjoy. Shaking her head to clear the thoughts Lyanna noticed that Ned had been watching her as her eyes followed Artys, and she blanched slightly at what he might be thinking. However Ned just gave her a strange look and turned to the pair readying to fight before him.

Artys and Benjen appeared oblivious to the small non verbal exchange as the both strapped their shields to their arms and took up their training swords. Nodding to each other they both dropped into ready stances. Benjen strode carefully forward, feet checking tentatively for obstacles as he kept his eyes locked upon his older and larger opponent. Artys by comparison seemed far more relaxed, and merely held his ground, watching his student with interest.

However as Benjen neared the Arryn man sprang into action, striking out of his seemingly easy stance with lightning quickness. Benjen gave a slight yelp of surprise as he knocked the slash that had aimed for his knee aside with his shield, managing to duck beneath the follow up swing that would have cracked him across the head. This carried on for several minutes as Artys launched three more combinations of several strokes, which Benjen managed to mostly dodge, parry or block with his shield. Only three strokes got past the young man's defense, a sharp jab that had caught him in the ribs, a slash had caught his right shoulder and Artys had delivered a gentle tap to Benjen's jaw with his blade, that could have been a full on swing if Artys' hadn't held it in check.

After the tap to Benjen's jaw was delivered the big man stepped back and gave Benjen a wide smile, "Not bad Ben, you're doing better. But your footwork is still off, and you're not getting all the power or movement you need. You need to set your feet like this." After demonstrating Artys' eyes flicked up to Ned and Lyanna, and he jerked his head questioningly at Benjen.

Ned nodded in agreement with Artys' words, speaking to his friend instead of Benjen, "He needs to keep his shield up too, and he's biting to hard on the feints by the look of it."

Artys shook his head at Ned and chuckled, "True, but lets just handle the basics for now, a high shield's worthless if you trip over your own feet." Ned nodded once more in understanding and gestured for the two combatants to continue.

Once more the two of them squared off, Artys' taking a more defensive stance this time and tapping his sword to his shield, "Now come at me Ben." Benjen advanced with more surety this time, he was more confident than he'd been before Artys' arrival if nothing else and that she knew made him infinitely more dangerous. Benjen's fingers tightened around the hilt of his blade as he launched into a quick assault.

Lyanna tracked his sword as it flashed high twice, then at Artys' sword hand before feinting high once more, only to dive into a blow at Artys' foot. Each blow was met with a crack as sword or shield leaped to intercept it, Artys merely stepping back to avoid the final strike. Again this went on for several minutes, Benjen taking this time to launch various attacks, only occasionally interrupted by a swift counter attack from Artys to test his reactions. Not a single strike came near to touching the big man, every one dodged or deflected with apparent ease.

After a another few minutes Artys called a stop and set the tip of his sword on the ground, leaning gently on the training blade as he spoke to Benjen, "Much better Ben, footwork was better than last match. Just make sure you're not falling into a pattern when you attack, you started doing that at the end." Benjen nodded in response even as he panted slightly from exertion, great frosty plumes spewing from his mouth as he did so.

Lyanna felt slightly envious in that moment, if Ned wasn't here it would be her turn to spar with Artys now. Yet as she watched Artys turned to Ned, a mischievous smile growing on his face as he looked at his friend, "Don't suppose you'd care for a match Ned? Its been a few weeks since we sparred. Besides, I leave in just a few days, this might be our last chance for a long time to see if you can finally beat me."

 _That_ caught Lyanna's attention, Artys was leaving in a few days? She wracked her brain for a moment, trying to remember what she could about their departure. Then it truly hit her, both of the southern lords would be leaving the day after tomorrow, setting out for White Harbor to secure ships home. A deep ache settled in the pit of her stomach, that meant no more sparring lessons with Artys for her. That meant no more Artys at all.

Dimly she heard Ned answering Artys' question, sounding amused as did so, "I don't see why not. I could manage to give you a thrashing before we have to see you off."

Glancing over to her brother Lyanna watched as he stood and strode across the clearing to Benjen, accepting the youngest Stark's shield and sword. Ned gave the sword a few experimental swings and tightened the shield on his arms before turning to Artys.

Lyanna's eyes flicked between them, all the advantages seemed to be against Ned. Artys was taller by half a head at least, stronger too, and deceptively fast for his size. Not to mention she'd heard rumors, and even once from Ned himself, that Artys was the better blade of the two of them. Meanwhile Lyanna wasn't even sure that Ned had sparred since he'd returned to Winterfell, she'd never seen him out in the yard at least.

Ned and Artys shared a quick nod as they began to advance on each other, both of their faces taught with concentration as they eyed their opponents. It was Artys who made the first move, stepping forward with a single lightning fast slash for Ned's head, Lyanna could barely track the progress of the blade. Yet as it neared it's target the sword was met with Ned's shield, and her brother stepped to the side and struck back even as she watched.

Artys batted the attack aside and grinned as he stepped back and began to circle Ned, his sword beating out a slow rhythm on the dirt as he tapped it against the ground almost unconsciously. Ned rotated slowly in place as his friend circled him, eyes never leaving Artys' face.

This time it was Ned who went on the offensive, with a slash for Artys' leg which was blocked away with a jarring thud of wood on wood. From there Lyanna began to lose track of the fight as Artys and Ned began to settle into the battle. The clack of wood on wood filled the glade as she watched, both men's blades becoming a blur. They danced, forward and back, giving ground only to reclaim it moments later, and Lyanna was impressed by the display before her. Yet to her it seemed that Ned was barely holding his own against Artys, narrowly dodging or parrying the bigger man's blows, and it looked as if Ned couldn't hold on for much longer.

As if in response to her thoughts Ned's foot slipped as he took a step backwards to avoid a blow, and though he maintained his feet Lyanna could see that he was off balance. Artys capitalized, stepping forward and batting aside a frantic slash from Ned, his shield smashing into his friend's. Lyanna couldn't help a small gasp escaping as Ned was sent sprawling, his sword coming free from his hand. While the wooden blade clattered across the roots to rest at the edge of one of the pools Artys stepped over Ned, bringing his own weapon about to rest at Ned's throat.

For a moment it was silent except for Ned and Artys' heavy breathing, then Artys' smile widened and he removed his sword, grabbing it with his shield hand as he offered Ned a hand. A smile likewise graced Ned's face as he took the hand and stood with a slight grunt of effort.

Lyanna couldn't help but laugh with relief, the match had been a beautiful thing to watch but it had left her somewhat breathless watching it. Then her eyes where drawn to the sky and her good cheer vanished, it was well past midday. Robert had asked her to go riding with him, and as angry as she was with her father Lyanna knew how angry he'd be if she missed out on that, anger which she could not handle at the moment. Standing she tried to dust off her dress as best she could, sitting under the heart tree had left leaves sticking to the wool.

Artys looked over as Lyanna made her way towards the clearings edge and the keep, and she caught a flash of disappointment on his face as he called out to her, "Leaving so soon m'lady? I thought you'd want to see me give your brothers another beating."

She had to suppress a smile at the gentle teasing in Artys' voice as she turned around and shook her head, allowing just a sliver of her annoyance to shine through, "I'm afraid not Artys. Robert has kindly asked me to join him for a bit of riding, and I must leave if I'm to meet him."

That got her a raised eyebrow, "Riding? In this weather?" Lyanna had asked herself the same question earlier today, the weather had warmed slightly in recent weeks, but nowhere near enough for riding in earnest. Not to mention Robert hadn't handled the cold well during his visit so far, and she suspected that half of the conversation today would be his complaining about the chill.

Shaking her head again she caught herself smiling teasingly at Artys, "Still unaccustomed to the lovely northern weather are you Ser Artys? No worries, I understand the cook will have plenty of warm food and warm wine to suit your southern tastes."

Artys shook his head and laughed loudly though over his shoulder Lyanna caught that strange look on Ned's face again as he looked between her and his friend, realization seeming to spark in his eyes. Turning away quickly she called over her shoulder as she walked out of the clearing, "Good luck with your sparring Ser Artys! Make sure to give my brothers that thrashing you promised!"

The three men started talking among themselves as she stepped into the trees. Yet as she walked Lyanna couldn't help but feel as if two pairs of eyes where following her. Somewhere in her belly a tug of fear could be felt as she wondered what those eyes meant.

 **Ned Stark**

 _She loved Artys._ The thoughts ran through Ned's head as he watched Lyanna disappear into the trees of the godswood. He wasn't sure how he'd missed it in the past few weeks but now it seemed plain as day. Not that Artys or even Lyanna seemed to realize it though. Turning his head Ned looked at Artys, his friends eyes still locked on the point where Lyanna had vanished among the trees. _He loves her too._

The thoughts simultaneously pleased and horrified Ned. He was happy for his sister and Artys, they both deserved someone to love. Yet at the same time he realized the nightmare that this could become. Robert loved Lyanna as well, and was already betrothed to her. If he found out that she had feelings for Artys, ones that he had as well. Ned shivered internally, he could only imagine the rampage that Robert would go on.

Ned let his gaze carry on, settling it upon Benjen, still standing just behind Artys' other shoulder. His youngest brother had the same thoughtful expression Ned imagined he himself wore right now, and when Ben turned his head and met Ned's gaze there was a knowing spark in his eyes too. _So Benjen knows as well, or at least suspects, I wonder for how long? He's spent more time around them than I have after all._

Turning back to Artys Ned coughed slightly to get his friends attention. Artys turned to him, cocking an eyebrow curiously and Ned jerked his head at the patch of earth they'd just sparred on, "Another go then? See if I can't beat you for once?" Artys gave him a vicious grin and nodded, seizing his sword from the ground where he'd left it and marching back to their little arena. After a moment Ned followed him, mind racing as he did so, _what should he do about Lyanna and Artys? What could he do?_ He pushed the thoughts from his mind however as he settled into a guard, and they where gone entirely by the time he parried the first blow.

By the time Ned and Artys had finished training it was nearly sunset and both of them where soaked with sweat. They'd dragged Benjen into the ring after a few more bouts, pitting him against Ned then Artys, trying to work out the flaws in the younger boy's style. Striding out of the godswood Ned poked tenderly at a rather nasty bruise on his ribs. The final bout had been him and Benjen against Artys, a bout that ended with Artys elbowing Benjen so hard in the temple the youngest Stark had seen stars, then bashing Ned across the ribs with his sword.

The pain of that defeat vanished from Ned's mind however when he entered the courtyard, there was Lyanna, looking like she was going to check on Sygerrik in the stables. Now was his chance to talk to her, or at least as good as a chance as he could hope for. Ned picked up his pace to a fast trot, entering the stables just moments after she did.

Glancing about Ned saw her walking down the aisle between stalls, muttering to herself as she went, it took only a few heartbeats to catch up to her, "Lya!" He kept his voice just above a harsh whisper as to not spook the horses with a shout, but even that was enough to spook Lyanna. Ned started in surprise as his sister spun faster than he'd expected, her own face as surprised as his.

She looked at him incredulously, "Ned? What's wrong?"

That took him aback for a moment, "Something has to be wrong for me to speak to you?"

Lyanna cocked an eyebrow, "No. But usually when you chase after me into the stables that's what it means." Ned chuckled, she wasn't entirely wrong there, more than once over the years he'd been forced to run her down with bad news. Though usually that involved him telling her that father had discovered she'd skipped her lessons to go riding. A small smile graced Lyanna's face as she turned and continued down the aisle, "What do you need Ned?"

Ned trotted after her, catching up and coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with her as she reached Sygerrik's stall, "It's about Artys, about today in the godswood." Lyanna's head snapped around, apprehension visible on her face before she masked it over with calm indifference.

Reaching up to pet Sygerrik's nose she shrugged, "What about it?"

Now Ned paused, wondering over how he'd put this question. After a few heartbeats Lyanna glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and Ned made his decision. Best to be forward about this kind of thing, "You love him, don't you?"

Even the horses seemed to fall silent at that question, though for a moment Ned could have sworn he saw relief on Lyanna's face before the anger kicked in. Turning she put her hands on her hips and glared at him, "What did you just say?"

Swallowing and severely questioning whether this had been a good idea Ned carried on, "Y-you love Artys." Lyanna's face twisted with anger and she stepped forward. Ned never even saw the blow coming, and Lyanna's fist caught him square in the jaw. Reeling back Ned cursed himself once again for thinking of this, then the pain hit. _Gods! Where did she learn to hit like that?_ But years of training and fighting with Robert and Artys had made him used to far worse hits, and Ned straightened, glaring at his sister, "What the hells Lya?"

Lyanna glared right back at him, hands once again firmly on her hips, "How dare you Ned! How dare you ask that!" Horses where beginning to prance nervously as her voice rose dangerously, even Sygerrik whinnying at the tension in the air.

Probing at his teeth with his tongue Ned tasted blood, "All I did was ask a question. It was all over your face when we where in the godswood, his too."

The anger receded slightly from Lyanna's face, "What was all over his face?"

Spitting the blood onto the floor Ned glanced back up at her, confused, "You mean you couldn't see it?" The glare was returning and Ned braced himself for another blow as he opened his mouth to speak, "Artys loves you too Lyanna."

A smile spread across Lyanna's face for a fraction of a second, then she locked eyes with him and it vanished. Sighing she turned back to Sygerrik and reached up to pet the big horse's nose, comforting him, "Is it that obvious Ned?"

He shrugged, "Obvious enough I suppose, though I only just noticed today to be honest." A thought struck him, "Benjen might have figured it out too, and probably earlier. Though I think Artys doesn't have a clue."

Lyanna laughed slightly, "Of course Benjen would know."

Once more silence reigned in the stable as Ned stepped forward to stand beside her, eyeing her cautiously out of the corner of his eye, "Is that part of why you don't want to marry Robert?"

This time Lyanna snorted, "I've wanted nothing to do with Robert since the minute father told me about him. Meeting Artys didn't change any of that. Though now, it would be one reason among many I suppose." She shook her head and gave a sigh, "Is it wrong of me Ned? Sometimes I wonder if I could convince father to do away with the betrothal, let me marry Artys."

Ned grimaced, _we both know there's no way father would agree to that, even with a dagger at his throat._ Thinking he tried to pick his words carefully, "It's, it's not entirely wrong of you. But you've only known Artys for a fortnight Lya, what makes you think he'd be any better of a husband than Robert?" Even to his own ears his argument sounded week, and Lyanna looked at him sidelong, one eyebrow cocked. Grimacing again Ned nodded, "I see your point. There's nothing we can do about it though, short of running away with Artys or killing Robert."

Realizing what he said Ned scrambled to continue, "But Artys isn't the kind to do that sort of thing, and nobody is killing Robert."

The amusement was back on Lyanna's face, but it faded again to to solemn acceptance. Turning away from Sygerrik she mumbled softly, "I know Ned." She walked back up the aisle towards the exit, "I'll see you at supper Ned. I need to think."

Ned wasn't entirely sure that he'd managed to convince her that she'd have to marry Robert, Lyanna was to stubborn for that. Yet watching her leave he couldn't think of anything else to say, so he only nodded as he watched her leave. A sinking feeling settling in his gut as he did so, this wasn't the end of this, not by far.

 **Artys Arryn**

Throwing his saddlebag onto his bed Artys looked around his chambers. The rooms that the Starks had given him for his stay where comfortable and surprisingly warm, something to do with hot water piped through the walls Ned had said. A rather ingenious idea really, Artys had wondered about trying it back at the Eyrie until Ned pointed out two fatal flaws with that idea. One the Eyrie didn't have hot springs beneath it like Winterfell did, and second they'd have to tear down and then rebuild all the walls for that to work. So Artys had been forced to admit that his idea was doomed from the start.

Chuckling slightly at the memory Artys looked around the room again, trying to recall if he'd forgotten anything. Today was his last in Winterfell, the plan was to leave tomorrow around dawn, to make the best use of the still short winter days. So he'd decided to pack everything tonight, the better to allow himself a little extra sleep tomorrow.

Almost everything was gone from the room, except his shadowskin, his sword and the furs that he'd need for tomorrow. Despite the fact that winter was on its last legs the air outside here in the North was still frigid enough that it put even the toughest men on their heels. Gods knew they'd lost enough to frost bite on the journey to Winterfell, two men had lost toes and a third the tip of his nose. Artys shook his head, he had no intention of joining them on that route.

A knock on the door broke Artys from his thoughts and he snapped his head around, "Enter." He'd been expecting Ned coming to check on him or Robert there to beg another delay, the Baratheon man had already gotten two, dragging their fortnight into closer to three weeks. Instead he was greeted to the sight of Lyanna, wearing a simple white wool dress.

Seeing the saddlebag on his head a slight frown crossed her face, "Packing to leave I see."

Artys shrugged and gave her a crooked grin, "I'm not feeling up to waking long before dawn to pack. Figured now is as good a time as any to be honest."

That earned him a giggle and Lyanna walked to a chair near the door, looking at him questioningly until Artys waved his hand in acceptance. Sitting Lyanna smiled gently at him, "I'm sorry about the last few days, I've been, occupied."

Artys nodded, the last time he'd see her had been three days ago, when he and Ned had sparred in the godswood. Entering the clearing to see Ned had given him quite a fright, thinking his friend had discovered he was teaching Lyanna swordplay. They'd been lucky that wasn't the case, or there would have been some serious explaining to do

Lyanna looked down at her hands then back up at him, looking somewhat uncertain now, "I was wondering, if you'd like to spar in the godswood. One last time before you go."

He twisted his face in confusion, "A little late for a final lesson don't you think?" It was nearly dark outside, and most of the castle was preparing for dinner soon.

The response he got was a simple shake of her head, "I was thinking after dinner, Benjen won't be able to come but there's enough light to see by tonight. We could manage a few bouts."

Artys' confusion only magnified, "Why can't Benjen join us? I didn't realize he was busy."

Lyanna shrugged, her face unreadable though Artys caught a spark of annoyance in her eye, "He said he has a task to do for our father. Something that can't wait."

That made sense in a way he supposed, Lord Stark didn't seem a particularly patient man, "Very well, we can spar. Though we'll have to be careful though, wouldn't want to wake the castle. Finding you and me alone in the godswood would raise questions."

Lyanna cocked her eyebrow, "More questions than you teaching me how to spar over the past fortnight?" Artys gave a low chuckle, she had him there. Lyanna continued on, "Besides, there's enough room between the heart tree and the walls that the guards won't hear us, and the Guest House is empty right now."

Nodding Artys chuckled again, "You've planned this out well. I'll meet you in the godswood after supper. One last sparring session before I go."

She grinned widely at him and sprang to her feet, wrapping him in a surprisingly tight hug, "Thank you Artys."

With the unexpected pressure crushing the air from his lungs the best that Artys could manage was a strangled croak before she released him. With another, more vicious smile Lyanna turned and strode for the door, "I'll see you tonight then." Just like that she was gone, rubbing his ribs Artsy watched the door swing shut behind her and smiled.

The snow crunched beneath Artys' feet as he made his way through the godswood, stumbling blindly over roots every few steps. True when one was out in the open the moonlight was enough to see by, but beneath the thick canopy of the godswood? Better luck convincing a Lannister to give up his gold. When he banged his shin for the fifth time Artys cursed, "Gods damned trees, gods dammed moon, gods dammed roots."

Just ahead a thin beam of moonlight came into view, and breaking free of the trees Artys sighed in relief that he could see again. As he looked up from his battered legs and out over the clearing though, all thoughts died and he exhaled deeply in awe. If the center of the godswood was beautiful in the day it was awe inspiring in the moonlight. The stars just visible through the sparser leaves of the heart tree, the snow turned silver in the moonlight. Even the pools scattered around the clearing shone like jewels.

But what really took his breath away was standing before the heart tree. Lyanna was clad in her usual sparring gear, old castoff padded tunic and trousers with bits of similarly scavenged leather armor worn over it. A wooden sword clutched loosely in one hand and a battered shield strapped to the other arm. Yet in the moonlight she looked like some sort of warrior angel, beautiful and strong, long hair hanging loose about her shoulders.

Regaining his composure Artys coughed to get her attention, and Lyanna's head snapped around to him. For an instant she smiled, transforming her face into something even more beautiful, then it was gone, replaced with annoyance, "There you are! You had me worried I was out here for nothing."

Artys gave her an apologetic smile, "Its a bit darker than I anticipated in the trees. Got lost for a minute."

Lyanna rolled her eyes, a faint smile returning to her lips, "Well at least you're here. Lets get started shall we?" Kneeling she retrieved a sword and shield from behind a small boulder, tossing them gently to Artys.

Catching them he strapped the shield on, tightening the buckles nicely and grunting in approval before taking up the sword. After a few practice swings to get its balance Artys nodded in approval, a good enough weapon for tonight. Lyanna bounced impatiently on her toes as she watched him, eager to begin. Content he'd made her wait long enough Artys took a long step back and nodded to her, the signal to begin.

In a heartbeat she came at him, blade swinging high as she led with her shield. With a grunt Artys batted the sword aside and struck her shield with his own. The Stark children all had very different tactics, Lyanna fought like Brandon, all aggression compared to Ned's cautious defense. As Artys' shield struck hers Lyanna rolled off it coming up on Artys' left, his shield side, where he couldn't attack her easily. Pivoting after her Artys blocked a quick succession of blows, Lyanna had definitely improved in the past weeks.

Her attack foiled Lyanna began to circle him, smiling that same wild grin as she prowled about Artys like a wolf around an aurochs. Then on she came again, sword leading high, then low then for his outstretched sword arm. Artys ducked, then parried and caught the last attack on his shield before launching his own assault. A quick thrust followed by a shield bash and a punch with the pommel of his sword. The first didn't even come close, Lyanna flowing around it like water, only to be sent staggering by the shield, barely dodging the last blow.

With his opponent off balance Artys grinned and drove in, refusing to let her come back on the attack. Lyanna had learned the hard way in their past sessions that she couldn't block the hammer blows that Artys called sword strokes, so she danced around what she could and parried what she couldn't. Yet Artys could see that each attack left her a little more ragged, each defense a little slower, and she was giving ground badly.

She never even realized she was going right where he wanted her too. Artys swept out a heavy horizontal slash, and Lyanna stepped back to dodge, only to find no earth beneath her feet. With a squeal of surprise she tumbled backwards, head over heels into one of the hot pools. Setting the point of his practice sword in the dirt Artys laughed quietly, shield arm clutching at his heaving side. Lyanna came up glaring at him once more, the water barely reaching to her thigh where she stood, but the girl soaked to the bone nonetheless.

Still glaring at Artys Lyanna pointed her sword at him, "You're lucky that these pools are warm. I could freeze to death."

Artys snorted with laughter, "If you freeze to death between here and the keep you wouldn't be much of a northerner would you now? Masters of the frozen wasteland and all that."

Lyanna's glare only deepened, which made Artys laugh harder, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. Then the water struck him, it was pleasantly warm, almost hot in fact yet it still sent a shock through him. In the pool Lyanna looked around herself innocently for whoever could have splashed him. Sighing Artys undid the straps on his shield and set it and his sword aside, walking to the edge of the pool her stuck out a hand to help her back out, "You can't say it wasn't funny."

Wading over to him Lyanna tossed her own sword and shield onto shore, "Of course I can." Reaching up she grabbed onto his hand, then threw all of her weight backwards. Artys heard himself squawk in surprise as he went airborne, sailing over her head and splashing into the pool. The water was even warmer than that which Lyanna had splashed on him.

Standing up he gasped for air and listened to Lyanna laugh this time, "Now that was funny." Glaring at her he waded to the edge and scrambled out, hissing as the frigid air hit his now soaked skin. Turning he once again offered Lyanna a hand out, his feet braced this time in case she tried to throw him in again. Yet Lyanna simply took the hand and scrambled out, fast enough that Artys didn't have time to step back, and they slammed together.

For several long heartbeats they stood chest to chest, or more like chest to stomach considering the height difference between them. Artys found his eyes locked with Lyanna's, knowing he should look away and step back, yet not sure if he entirely wanted to. A slight smile pulled at Lyanna's lips and she coughed softly, breaking Artys' reverie.

With a startled grunt he took a step back and looked about guiltily, finding the clearing empty, as it should be. Inwardly he kicked himself, _she's betrothed, to one of your best friends no less you dolt, have some self control._ Coughing nervously, Artys looked at Lyanna awkwardly, only to find she was still smiling and hadn't moved from where she stood. Silence reigned in the godswood as the two of them stared at each other.

Eventually it was her who broke it, with another cough as she shivered and rubbed at her arms, "Well this will be the last chance that I have to thank you for this. So, thank you Artys, for sparring with me."

Artys opened and closed his mouth twice as he searched for the words, what was he supposed to say right now? He decided to just keep it simple, "You, you're welcome. It was an honor."

Lyanna giggled softly and then the silence resumed, unsure of what else to do Artys strode back to the pool and knelt, intent on retrieving the training weapons. With them gathered in his hands he turned to rise and found Lyanna directly before him. Before he could say a word she leaned down and gave him a single kiss on the lips. Dumbfounded the only thoughts that came to his mind where how soft her lips where.

Some conscious corner of his mind registered the sound of wood clattering to stone and realized he must have dropped the swords. The rest of his mind simply ignored that part. Then it was over, Lyanna stepped back and gave him another smile, "Thank you." Then she was gone, disappearing into the trees.

Artys lost track of how long he knelt there, unmoving, unsure of what he should do now. Still in a haze he gathered the weapons and stood, dizzily making his way towards the edge of the clearing. The corner of his mind that was still functioning telling him that he was smiling like an idiot. Dimly he could see the fact that his hands where turning blue. Fuck it was cold.

Slinging his saddlebags across his horses back Artys looked around the courtyard. His men and a handful of Stark soldiers where bustling about, saddling horses and preparing to leave. The weather had broken early this morning, and it was truly beginning to look like spring was on its way. A good sign if there was any.

A heavy hand on his shoulder caught Artys' attention, Robert stood behind him, grinning widely as he looked around, "Things are finally looking up eh Artys?" The bigger man caught a glimpse of Artys face and his smile died, "Seven hells Artys, you look like shit. Did you sleep at all last night?"

Artys shrugged, he honestly hadn't much. After that sparring session with Lyanna he'd stumbled back to his room barely able to feel his extremities. That water may have felt nice but it left him colder than he'd ever been in his life. By the time he'd settled in and been warm enough to fall asleep it'd been a scarce few hours to dawn.

Robert gave him a knowing grin, "Stay up all night with some lass did you? Hope it was worth it." Artys' eyes went wider than he'd ever felt them before, and he stared at his friend in surprise. Chuckling Robert started away to ready his own horse. Looking after his friend Artys prayed to the seven that he never knew how right he actually was.

Cinching the straps of his saddle tight Artys rested his head against the warm side of his horse for a moment, feeling his breath misting in the beard he'd been growing since he arrived in the north. Lifting his head he turned and strode among his men, making sure that all of them where ready for the impending journey, food and clothes stored, plenty of furs, the usual drill. With that done he moved to the front of the pack, to where the Starks where gathered.

Lord Stark was speaking with Robert as he approached, "-send you a raven when we have determined a date. It will likely have to wait until after Brandon's wedding though. It was an honor to have you as a guest Lord Baratheon." The hard faced lord clasped Robert's hand as he finished speaking.

Robert merely grinned widely, "It was an honor to be here m'lord. With any luck I'll be able to visit again before the wedding."

Lord Stark nodded and turned to Artys, "As for you Ser Artys, my thanks for your help in teaching Benjen swordsmanship." The lord flicked his eyes over the rest of his family and his voice dropped to a mock whisper as he gave a small grin, "And for besting Brandon. He needs humbling every now and again." Sputtering indignation sounded from Brandon and Artys gave an involuntary laugh, that was the first joke he'd ever heard Lord Stark make.

Clasping hands with the lord Artys smiled, "You have a wonderful family m'lord. It was my pleasure to meet them all. I'll be sure to have my father send you a letter if there's any fine lasses in the Vale for Ned to marry some day." The Stark lord gave another slight smile and nodded.

Moving on Artys clasped hands with Brandon, neither of them had much to say and just nodded before Artys moved on. Benjen looked slightly dejected at the prospect of Artys and Robert's departure as he embraced Artys. Pulling back he gave a weak smile, "I'll keep up with the training once your gone. Maybe next time you see us we'll be able to beat you."

Artys chuckled again, understanding that Benjen meant himself and Lyanna as well, "I'll be counting on it Ben. Maybe ask Ned for help while you're at it." Benjen gave a thoughtful nod as Artys moved on.

Ned stood next in line, looking slightly more solemn than usual, Artys clapped him on the shoulder, "You'll be fine Ned, besides you know father gave you an open invitation to visit the Vale any time. Wouldn't want to leave me alone with Andar and Albar would you?" Artys glanced over his shoulder to where his two cousins where squabbling, then back to his friend, pleading silently.

Shaking his head Ned smiled and embraced Artys, "I'll miss you my friend."

Artys returned the embrace, "And I you Ned. Help Ben with his sparring would you? He'll need it." Ned smiled again and nodded as Artys had a thought and reached into his shirt, pulling out the shadow cat fang on its cord, "Don't miss me to much, you've got this to remember me by after all." Ned just shook his head and fingered the cord around his own neck, barely visible above his collar.

Lyanna stood last in the line of Starks, looking after Robert as he walked back to his horse to mount up, having just spoken to her. Artys hid a smile as he noticed her surreptitiously wiping the back of her hand off on her dress. As he approached she turned and smiled at him, though there was apprehension in her eyes, "Ser Artys, I must say I'm sad to see you go."

Artys thought for a moment, there where so many things he wanted to ask her, to tell her. About last night, what it meant, the fact that he thought he loved her. Yet he was forced to settle with a simple smile, "I'm sad to be going my lady. It was my pleasure to meet you, I hope I will get to again some day."

Her smile held in his place, though her eyes held questions as well, "I'm sure we will at some point Artys. Farewell, and have a safe journey."

Nodding Artys turned and marched to his horse, swinging himself into his saddle he turned back and gave the Starks one final wave before nodding to Andar, who barked an order to his men. As one they turned and rode out the gates of Winterfell. Artys sighed as his thoughts turned south, towards home.

 **Author's Note: So there she is Chapter 4. Sorry about the delay folks, had exams then Christmas then personal stuff and work and a massive case of writer's block and it just spiraled out of control. Suffice to say though that I got it done and here we are, thought I'd make it a little longer to fit everything in and make up for my failure in timing. To those of you so fervently hoping for Artys x Lyanna, there you go, there's some of it. Though no promises that it won't change *dramatic foreshadowing music*. To answer a few questions: Guest- his archery skills are practically non resistant. Knights of the Vale, honor, all that malarkey. Cold blue- 1) Wait and see my young padawan. 2) A valyrian sword for him might end up being a thing, but if he found Lamentation he would probably end up giving it over to Bronze Yohn. 3) He's not likely going to get a familiar, what First Men blood he does have is very diluted, the Royces got kinda screwed over during the Andal Invasion after all. So no warging, he does have falcons but their just your standard hunting falcons, no fun stuff there. So no spiritual animal companions like Stark Direwolves.**

 **That's all the questions I saw in the comments so I'll wrap this up. Apologies once again for the delay and thank you for those of you that read this. As always comments and feedback are greatly appreciated.**

 **-S**


	5. Chapter 5

**Artys Arryn**

The towers of Harrenhal rose high into the sky above him, nearly piercing the clouds by the look of it. Their black stone was still solid and strong despite having the look of being half melted, and at their peaks flew the nine black bats upon a yellow field of house Whent. Shaking his head at the sheer size of it all Artys looked away from the monstrous castle and glanced around himself. Dozens of colorful pavilions where huddled in the shadow of the great black fortress, splashes of color against the darkness.

Breathing deeply of the warm air Artys strode easily along the outer edge of the great walls, letting his mind wander. He'd arrived here at Harrenhal the day before, along with his father and a great column of nearly three hundred knights of the Vale. They'd all come for the first tourney of the spring, the tourney that Lord Whent was claiming would be the greatest the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen.

From what Artys had seen so far their host's boasts weren't entirely baseless, only knights from the Riverlands, Vale and Westerlands had arrived so far but there where nearly seven hundred knights here to compete for the three hundred thousand gold dragons that would go to the winner of the joust. Artys had a feeling that once the men of the other kingdoms arrived they'd be closer to two thousand men vying for that purse. Lord Whent had done well to prepare though, his castle could house thousands of guests in the parts that where habitable. Not to mention he'd planned for a full ten days of festivities, seven of them jousting.

For now though there was just waiting, there where still five days until the tourney was due to begin. Sighing Artys moved among the tents, nodding to men he recognized as he did so. His father was spending today meeting with Lord Whent, apparently he'd been hoping to discuss a possible marriage contract with Hoster Tully between Artys and Lysa Tully, but the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands had declined his invitation to the tourney.

A commotion ahead of him caught Artys' attention, curious he moved towards the sounds. A large crowd was gathering at the eastern gate of the great fortress. Pushing his way through the crowd Artys cast about for what had caused the gathering. Coming up the road towards the castle was a column of some five hundred men, above them flying the banner of the royal family, the red three headed dragon on black alongside it the lion of the Lannisters and the black stag of the Baratheons, as well as the banners of dozens of minor lords from the Stormlands and the Crownlands.

Artys grinned that meant that Robert had arrived, alongside his cousin the prince it seemed, as word had been spreading that that the king wouldn't be attending, he hadn't left the capital in years after all. As they drew closer Artys' grew more impressed. Riding at the head of the column was the prince himself. Sitting tall in his saddle and wearing a fine black doublet with the sigil of his house upon the chest in beautifully embroidered red velvet. His sliver hair flowing in the light breeze alongside the resplendent black velvet cloak he wore.

Artys looked down at himself and chuckled, compared to the prince he was simply dressed, or maybe raggedly was the better word. He wore a stout leather jerkin over a light wool tunic leaving his arms mostly bare and exposing several harsh welts where Andar had managed to strike him earlier. His boots where sturdy and the simple woolen trousers he wore had a rather obvious patch on one knee. Not to mention the clothes where stained with sweat and dirt from sparring this morning, leaving him looking like little more than a common sellsword.

Flanking the prince where two men in white enameled plate, fine cloaks of snow white wool hanging limp about the hindquarters of their horses, kingsguard. The one to the prince's right was a tall man, lean and with a crossed sword and star in purple across the chest of his brilliant white surcoat. He wore no helm, exposing an angular but handsome face with black hair about his shoulders and the olive skin of a Dornishman, his eyes a luminescent violet color. Artys took in a sharp breath at the sight of the man and the hilt of the greatsword peeking over his shoulder. That was Ser Arthur Dayne, supposedly the most deadly swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms.

The other white armored man wore a helm with a black bat across the front of it, two black enamel wings sprouting from the temples. That would be Ser Oswell Whent, the younger brother of Lord Whent. He wasn't as tall as Ser Arthur, but broader across the chest.

To Prince Rhaegar's right and slightly behind him rode a tall broad shouldered man in red and gold, with bushy golden sideburns and a shaven head. A boy who couldn't have been more than sixteen riding at his side, just as tall and with golden hair, his curling about his shoulders. Lannisters, the elder had to be Tywin Lannister, the hand of the king. The younger would be his son Jaime Lannister, just knighted if Artys remembered correctly, fighting the Kingswood Brotherhood.

Robert rode just to the side of the two kingsguard and his cousin, dwarfing all three of them even on horseback. The Baratheon lord wore his armor as well, solid and unadorned grey plate under a bright yellow surcoat with the black stag of his house on the breast. As they drew closer Artys raised a hand in greeting and called out to his friend, "Robert!"

The prince and his kingsguards both turned their heads at his voice but kept riding, not even bothering to slow down. Robert on the other hand swung his horse off the road with a thunderous laugh, pulling tightly on the reins as he came abreast to Artys, "Artys! How long has it been? A year?"

Artys laughed and reached up, clasping his friend's arm in greeting, "Near to it, how are you Robert?"

Robert shook his head, "Well enough, I take it you're going to be in the joust?"

Artys nodded and glanced over Robert's shoulder, watching a beautiful wheel house trundle past, another pair of kingsguard knights riding alongside it. Looking back to Robert he smiled, "Aye I plan on it. I'm thinking of riding in the melee as well. What about you?"

Robert reached down and tapped the warhammer hanging from his saddle horn, "It's been to long since I had a chance for a good fight. I'll be riding in both, see if I can't put a crown of winter roses on Lyanna's head."

 _Lyanna_ , Artys winced internally at the mention of her. He tried to avoid it but he thought of the Stark girl often, and had spent more than one night over the last year dreaming of that night in the godswood. Shaking his head Artys pushed those thoughts away and smiled at his friend, turning and walking alongside Robert's horse as he made his way through the gates of Harrenhal, "You'll have to win first, and from what I've seen that won't be easy."

Robert threw his head back and gave another of his thunderous laughs, "Oh I gathered that already, the Sword of the Morning, the prince, Barristan the Bold, they're all riding in the joust. It'll be a challenge for the ages."

Artys chuckled, "You're forgetting Bronze Yohn, the White Bull, Lewyn Martell, and another half of the kingdom." The two of them passed through the cavernous gateway, between two gatehouses as large as the Eyrie's main keep.

Beside him Artys heard Robert snort, "Actually I spoke to the prince, the White Bull is staying back in King's Landing with the king. Him and Jon Darry are going to be guarding him while Rhaegar is here with the rest of the kingsguard."

Artys did a quick mental count, "That's only six. What about Grandison?"

Robert waved one gauntleted hand dismissively, "Dead. Died in his sleep barely a month ago. Would have thought the king would be coming here to find a replacement, but he isn't budging from King's Landing." Artys was slightly put off by the dismissive attitude Robert had towards the dead knight but kept his peace.

Both men went silent as they entered into the courtyard, Prince Rhaegar, the kingsguard, and the Lannisters where already dismounted and speaking with Lord Whent, Artys' father standing near the entrance to the keep looking on. The great wheelhouse was just slowing to a stop, the two kingsguard who had been flanking it now standing flanking the door.

One of them, an aging Dornishman carrying a long spear reached up and rapped gently on the door. After a moment it opened a slender woman with the same olive skin as the Dornish kingsguard stepped out. She was beautiful, with long black hair coiled around her shoulders and deep black pools for eyes. Yet there was a frailty about her, a gauntness about the face and a sickly cast to her skin. As she stepped down the elderly Dornishman reached up and took her hand, helping the woman down gently. It was only then that Artys noticed what she clutched to her chest, a bundle that could only be a babe, red dragons embroidered on its blankets and a tuft of silvery hair showing out the end.

Robert nodded as he saw Artys' watching the woman, "That's the princess, Ellia. Seems like a fine woman, sickly though. Still hasn't quiet recovered from having her lad."

Behind Princess Ellia came a small girl, no more than three, with the same dark hair and a touch of olive color to her skin. The girl looked about excitedly, a wide grin plastered about her face. A grin that only widened as she saw Prince Rhaegar, with a happy giggle the girl ran towards him. Seeing her the prince gave a happy smile and caught the girl, swinging her up into the air above his head and laughing as the girl squealed. Artys smiled seeing it, judging from Rhaegar's reaction the girl had to be his daughter, Rhaenys.

Looking back to the carriage Artys felt his smile vanish, replaced by a slack jawed look, however he was only vaguely aware of it. Exiting the wheelhouse was perhaps the most stunning woman he'd ever seen. Tall, with the olive hued skin of the Dornish, though somewhat lighter than the princess and the older kingsguard. She was lean and graceful, but lacked the frailness that Princess Ellia had about her. Her face was breathtaking, a mischievous smile only enhancing it, her violet eyes sparkling with laughter as she watched the prince and his daughter. Something in her eyes reminded Artys of Lyanna, and he found himself drawn to the woman.

Robert's voice pulled Artys from his thoughts, the big man laughing softly, "I see you've spotted her then. That's Ashara Dayne, the Sword of the Morning's sister. She's Ellia's handmaiden." Robert continued to chuckle, "She's a sight I'll admit. Though she turned me down so I can't say she has good taste in men."

That sucked some of the happiness from Artys, Robert talking about trying to dishonor Lyanna in the middle of a crowded courtyard. Shaking his head Artys looked at his friend and sighed, which only earned him a confused glance. Looking back towards the prince's party he was startled to see a pair of violet eyes looking back at him. Ashara Dayne was looking at him with an appraising expression on her face and when she caught his gaze she gave him a small smile before looking away.

Robert reached over and cuffed Artys about the shoulder his previous confusion forgotten, "You lucky bastard. She hasn't even been here a day and you've already caught her eye."

Artys looked at his friend, now it was his turn to be confused. It was just a passing look was all. Shaking his head Robert chuckled and dismounted, not saying a word despite Artys' questioning look. Once more looking back Artys realized that a third lady had exited the wheelhouse. Another beautiful woman, though Artys thought she paled in comparison to Ashara.

The third woman was younger, not as tall as Ashara but more slender, with fair skin and long golden hair that nearly reached her waist. Her dress was striking crimson, cut more daring than any other lady's in the courtyard and with a golden lion on the front. Artys instantly guessed at who she was, Cersei Lannister, the girl his father had been speaking of marrying him to. Cersei scanned the courtyard disdainfully, as if all within it where beneath her. Though she smiled when she saw Prince Rhaegar and her brother. Already Artys decided he didn't much care for her, she seemed far to arrogant to him.

A movement at the corner of his eye caught Artys attention, and he glanced over to see his father urgently gesturing to him. Making a quick farewell to Robert with a promise to meet him later for a drink and some sparring Artys strode around the edge of the royal party to his father. Father was situated in a wide doorway overlooking the courtyard, and as Artys approached he slid over slightly to make room beside him. Artys resisted the urge to roll his eyes when his father cast a curious glance at his clothes then raised an eyebrow, "I was sparring father, I didn't have time to change."

Father frowned, "Well you certainly won't make a good impression on Lord Tywin or the prince dressed like that. But it will have to do for now." His voice was low, a conspiratorial whisper as Prince Rhaegar stood not five paces away speaking with Lord Whent. Jerking his chin slightly to Lord Tywin, now standing with both his children father spoke again, "That would be Cersei Lannister. What do you think of her?"

Artys mulled over his response for a moment, "Pretty enough I suppose. Something about her seems...off though."

His father glanced at him suspiciously, "Pretty enough? The lass is _radiant_ boy." When his father looked back Artys actually did roll his eyes. His father had only heard the first part of what he said and even that didn't seem to matter to him. Dimly he realized his father was speaking again, "Even if she was ugly as a mule it'd be a worthwhile marriage, her dowry will be the largest in the bloody kingdom I tell you."

Leaning in closer Artys whispered to his father, his eyes locked on Ashara Dayne as she was greeted by Lord Whent, "What about her father? Ashara Dayne." Once the words came out of his mouth he was surprised by his own boldness, he'd never even spoken to the woman for seven's sake.

A musing silence followed as his father chewed absently at the corner of his mouth, "Dayne...Dayne. One of the more powerful houses in Dorne aren't they? Up in the Red Mountains?" Artys nodded, his stomach tying itself in knots as his father carried on, "Not much of an alliance, though her family seems to be high in the Prince's favor I'll grant you."

Another pause, during which Artys had to flick his gaze away as Ashara glanced their way, "I'll consider it Artys. Though I'd much prefer the Lannister girl to tell the truth. I'll speak with Lord Lannister and see if I can't arrange a meeting with him about a betrothal, allow you to meet Lady Cersei." Artys nodded slowly, wondering what that would be like.

Then the prince was there, his daughter at his side clutching his hand in her tiny one. Rhaegar was a tall man, the top of his head even with Artys' chin, lean and muscular. He had a slightly melancholy look about him yet was smiling politely as he greeted Artys' father, "Lord Arryn, a pleasure to meet you my lord."

Father bowed low, hiding the slight pain in his eyes as he did so, "The pleasure is all mine your grace. Have you met my son, Artys?" He gestured to Artys, drawing the prince's attention away from him.

Rhaegar turned to Artys, "No, I don't believe I've had the honor." He gave a slight bow, taking in Artys' clothes as he did so. There was a hint of good natured amusement in his eyes as he straightened.

Artys managed his own bow struggling momentarily to find the words, "Your grace." He winced as he heard his voice crack. Turning to the small girl at Rhaegar's side he managed a slight smile, "I assume this lovely lady is your daughter your grace?"

The little girl giggled and tried to hide behind her father, and the somewhat faked smile Prince Rhaegar had been wearing vanished, replaced by a smaller but genuine one as he pulled the girl gently forward. She looked down at her feet still smiling as her father spoke, "Aye she is. This is Princess Rhaenys."

Artys knelt down and caught the little princess's gaze, "A pleasure to meet you my lady. I'm surprised they let one as fair as you out of the Red Keep."

Once more Rhaenys giggled and grinned at him, showing several missing teeth, "Thank you ser." That said she released her father's hand and scampered back towards her mother, hiding behind her skirts. Straightening Artys caught Ashara Dayne looking at him once more, another smile upon her lips.

Flushing slightly he turned to the prince, "A fine girl your grace, she'll grow into a great beauty no doubt."

Rhaegar nodded, smiling slightly still as he watched her go, "I agree Ser Artys." Turning back to Artys he nodded down at his clothes, "I see you where training, I take it to mean you plan on participating in the joust?"

Artys nodded, "Aye your grace, and the melee as well. What of you? Do you plan to compete?"

The prince chuckled softly, "Only the joust I'm afraid. I've not the inclination or the courage for melees, and even if I did Ser Arthur refuses to allow me to participate."

A voice came from over Rhaegar's shoulder, and only then did Artys notice Ser Arthur Dayne standing behind the prince, "Melees are to chaotic your grace, there would be to great a chance of you being injured, or killed. Just look at what happened to Baelor Breakspear." The tall Dornish knight sounded extremely serious, though there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. His eyes however where watchful, flicking about the courtyard, scanning every face for danger.

Rhaegar waved his hand, "Baelor didn't die in a melee Arthur. It was a trial of seven, and a particularly bloodthirsty one I might add."

Ser Arthur nodded, still smiling slightly as he looked Artys up and down as if sizing him up, "True your grace, though my argument stands."

Rhaegar chuckled and shook his head, then reached out a hand to clasp, "It was a pleasure to meet you Ser Artys, may the Seven grant you fortune in the competitions."

Slightly dumbfounded Artys took the offered arm and nodded, "My thanks your grace, may they smile upon your lance." Then just like he'd appeared, he was gone, the prince vanishing into the crowd in the courtyard. Artys couldn't help but like the man he'd just met, he seemed intelligent and kindhearted from the brief interaction they'd had.

After a moment Artys was broken from his thoughts as his father approached him, he hadn't even realized that he'd gone from the doorway. His father settled back in beside him looking rather pleased with himself, "I've arranged a meeting with Lord Tywin tomorrow around midday. While I speak with him you will meet his daughter and speak with her." Nodding silently Artys glanced across the courtyard one last time, eyes settling once again on Ashara Dayne. He'd meet with the Lannister girl, though he had sinking feeling he wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much as his father hoped.

Grunting Artys knocked aside a blow of Robert's warhammer with his shield, feeling the impact up his arm and into his shoulder and chest as the heavy weapon struck. Stepping forward he swung his ax high, not even bothering to watch the weapon's progress as he ducked his head to avoid the pommel of Robert's hammer swinging for his nose. A dull crunch sounded and Artys suppressed a grin as he felt the impact of his ax. Stepping to the side to avoid a possible counter strike he lifted his head and drew back his ax again for another strike.

He was greeted with the sight of Robert stumbling back, cursing and favoring his shoulder as he did so, his voice muffled by the visor of his helmet. Grinning still behind his own visor Artys sprang after him, ax darting out for his friends wrist. Only for Robert to straighten and drop one hand from his hammer, launching himself into a straight left jab that caught Artys in the visor of his helmet. Sending him stumbling backwards in his own turn.

Cursing Artys shook his head and swung his shield across to meet the hammer blow he knew must be coming. His reward was another shock up his already sore and tired arm. Clearing his vision he saw Robert had overextended himself, the hammer out to wide to defend him, a product of the blow Artys had just blocked. Artys didn't spare a thought about if it was another trick and brought his ax over, this fight had to end now, one way or another.

Once again Robert wound up cursing, this time as the heavy tourney ax smacked him on the side of the head and sent him to one knee. Kicking the hammer from Robert's grasp Artys stood over him and raised his ax for another blow. Seeing it Robert raised one hand in surrender, the other scrabbling at the side of his now dented sparring helm.

Lowering his weapon Artys tossed it aside and reached down to help his friend, loosening the strap enough for Robert to tear the helmet off. Standing the Baratheon man rubbed at his head and glared at Artys, "Did you have to hit so damn hard? Think you cracked my fucking helmet." As he spoke he rolled his shoulder, emphasizing his point.

Artys shrugged, "Sorry. Not used to using an ax. I hate the damn things to be honest." Reaching down he unstrapped his shield and tossed it aside to land atop the ax he'd just discarded.

Robert snorted and shook his head, "Then why are you using it? Just use a tourney sword." Kneeling he retrieved his training hammer, then levered himself back to his feet with a grunt.

Removing his helmet Artys snorted, "It's a melee Robert. Axes are better for it than swords, more power behind each swing. Means I can put someone on their ass easier."

This time his friend rumbled in agreement as he strode towards his tent just a few paces away, "I've got an extra hammer somewhere if you're looking for something to put men on their asses."

Following after him Artys chuckled, "I can't use one of those, I plan on using a shield. Unlike you I don't much care for getting hit in the head with maces." Robert growled as he poured himself a goblet of wine from a flagon on a stand outside his tent, offering one to Artys as he did so. Artys waved a hand dismissively, "No, I'm to meet with my father in an hour. He wants me to go with him to meet with Tywin Lannister about a betrothal between me and his daughter. Father won't be pleased if I smell like wine."

Robert smiled as he took a sip, "Cersei Lannister eh? I saw her on the journey here, gorgeous lass, fine tits. Ones you just want to grab."

Artys rolled his eyes, "I won't even bother responding to that. But my problems not her looks, there's something about her that's, off. She seems like an arrogant one."

This time he got a nod as Robert took a deeper swig, "Oh aye, I heard from one of her maids that she's a bitch." At Artys' questioning look Robert just smiled wider and took another drink, draining the cup.

Sighing Artys glanced up at the sun, it was midmorning, a little over an hour till he was to meet his father, "I should go find a bath. Need to wash all the dust off me from knocking _your_ ass in the dirt." Robert growled mockingly and threw the now empty goblet at him, only to find it blocked by Artys' raised arm.

Chuckling Artys strode away from Robert's tent and towards the castle. The bathhouses there where always running, the water kept hot by great furnaces beneath the pools that Lord Whent was keeping full at what Artys could only imagine was great expense. A quick stop at his tent along the way found him out of his sparring armor and carrying a new set of clean clothes.

An half hour later Artys found himself back at his tent, checking his reflection in the breastplate of his armor. His hair was still damp and a ragged mess though he'd managed to get the beard he'd been growing since his trip to Winterfell into some sort of order. His father had chosen what he was to wear today, something to do with not dressing like a hedge knight and looking respectable. So Artys found himself in a fine blue dyed lambskin doublet with velvet trim, wearing grey woolen breeches that felt far to tight and a pair of fine black boots up to his knees. A silver falcon pin held his lovely grey wool cloak in place.

Rolling his shoulders Artys tried to settle the clothing, it fit well enough but the cut was strange, the latest fashion in court no doubt. A cough behind him drew his attention, and he turned to find his father looking him over, "Not bad son, not bad."

Giving a joking smile to his father Artys tugged at his sleeve, "So you say, but I can barely breathe in these things."

Father chuckled and shook his head, "You've spent to much time with Ned and Robert, always wanting to go around in hunting leathers or worse, armor." Stepping closer his father reached out and handed him an exquisitely wrought sword belt and sheath, black leather with silver chasing and a silver falcon and moon buckle, "A gift from your cousin Denys, it was for your name day but we thought you'd want it now."

Artys marveled at the belt as he took it, for all its beauty it was obviously meant for actual wearing too, sturdy and light as it was. Strapping the belt on he strode across his tent to where his sword hung in its battered sheath and belt. Taking the blade he slid it into its new home and glanced at his father, who nodded approvingly.

Giving him one last glance his father nodded, "Very good. Now lets not delay, Lord Tywin will be waiting for us." Without another word he turned and strode out of the tent, leaving Artys to trail after him, still tugging at the sleeves of his doublet.

The walk to the Lannister's quarters was a rather long one, they'd been given a series of spacious room inside one of the towers of the castle. Along the way Artys spotted workmen putting the finishing touches on massive rows of seats for the joust, seemingly enough to seat half the kingdom. His father didn't speak as he walked, even when they reached the door to Lord Tywin's temporary solar he remained silent, merely nodding to the two guardsmen in Lannister colors as one entered the room to announce their arrival.

The guard returned after a moment, nodding at them as he opened the door. Stepping in Artys raised his eyebrows in surprise. Lord Whent had given the Hand fine chambers indeed. The walls where covered in fine tapestries depicting some battle from history, looking closer Artys guessed perhaps the Redgrass field. A beautifully made table dominated the center of the room, gilded plates and cups resting on the tabletop, and expensive Myrish rugs covered the floor.

Lord Tywin himself was seated at the table as Artys and his father entered, his children flanking him, though they stood to greet them as Tywin spoke, "Lord Arryn, and you must be Ser Artys." Artys noted the Lannister lord's voice, deep and commanding, but cold. Tywin cast his eyes over Artys, looking him up and down like a horse he was trying to decide upon buying. After a moment he gestured to either side of himself, "Allow me to introduce my heir, Jaime, and my daughter Cersei." Both of his children nodded politely but said not a word as their father gestured to them.

Artys' father tilted his head in greeting, "My lord hand. A pleasure to see you again. Ser Jaime, Lady Cersei, it is an honor to meet you." Artys snuck a glance at the younger Lannisters as his father spoke, Ser Jaime looked supremely bored, his eyes far away. Cersei on the other hand was watching with interest, her eyes flickering between Artys and his father, not a calculating as her father's gaze perhaps but with a certain cunning to them Artys noted.

Tywin nodded face now expressionless as he gestured to a pair of chairs across the table from him and sat, his children following suit. Leaning forward in his chair Lord Tywin gestured to a large decanter in the middle of the table, "Wine Lord Arryn?" Father shook his head and Lord Tywin settled back in his chair, a small measure of respect now showing on his face, "To business then."

Father nodded and glanced at Artys, "Aye my lord. Though perhaps you and I should discuss that privately? Artys and your children could adjourn elsewhere and speak among themselves? I'm sure none of them have any interest in business deals."

Tywin cocked and eyebrow but said nothing, merely nodding as he gestured to his children to leave. Standing Artys followed them out the door, once it closed behind him he glanced at the twins. Cersei looked back at him curiously as Jaime once more glanced about, bored. Coughing Artys spoke, "Ser Jaime, Lady Cersei. How was your journey here from King's Landing?"

Cersei smiled slightly in amusement, and Artys cursed himself, why in the hells couldn't he think of something better to say? Ser Jaime flicked a hand in annoyance, "Long, and boring I'm afraid. Though I sparred with your friend Lord Robert. Quiet a formidable fellow."

Artys nodded dumbly, mind struggling for words, "Aye he is. I fear I'll end up facing him in the melee once the tourney begins, and I can't say that I relish the thought." He gave what he hoped came off as an easy grin as he rubbed at his shoulder, still sore from the sparring match earlier.

Jaime led the way a short distance down the hall to another door, pushing it open to reveal another lavish solar, with a smaller table than his father's within. A spark of interest entered his voice as he walked to the table, Artys and his sister trailing behind, "You mean to enter the melee then? The joust as well I take it?"

Artys nodded, "The joust as well. What of you? Do you plan on jousting as well?"

Then Cersei spoke for the first time, "Jaime will be in the joust and the melee, and he'll win both of them. Then he'll name me his queen of love and beauty. Jaime's the finest knight in the realm. The king even plans to name him to the kingsguard." That stopped Artys in his tracks, he'd been expecting some boasting from Jaime but not from Cersei.

Regaining his composure he frowned, "The kingsguard? I can't imagine your father is to pleased about that. You're his heir after all."

Jaime glared at his twin, "My father doesn't know yet, and besides the king has not decided yet as to the kingsguard."

Artys caught a glimpse of Cersei rolling her eyes out of the corner of his eye and wracked his mind for another conversation topic, trying to think of a way to draw the Lannister girl into the conversation. As he opened his mouth to speak though the door to the room slammed open. His father stood in the doorway, looking supremely annoyed, "Artys, with me. We need to return to our camp."

Fighting back confusion Artys rose from where he sat and nodded respectfully at the Lannister twins before following his father. They stormed through the keep, his father refusing to say a word until they where outside, "The pompous bastard! Tywin refused to even speak of a betrothal between you and Cersei. He claims his daughter is fit only for a prince!"

Silently Artys wished whatever prince was stuck with Cersei good luck, he'd only heard the girl speak a single sentence and he already didn't like her. As they walked his father raged and grumbled, but Artys just smiled and shook his head, thinking forwards towards the tourney to come.

 **Author's Note: So here we are another chapter. I've come to the realization after writing this one that I likely need a proof reader to catch all the mistakes I'm probably making and to double check this and make sure it's all rolling good. If anyone would be interested in the job please PM me. But we're finally starting to cover some ground towards Robert's Rebellion, even if Harrenhal is at this point planned to cover maybe four chapters. Also, at this point I can only see one possible way for Artys and Lyanna to end up together, I won't spoil it but I'm wondering if there might be other ways that I'm just not seeing, if anyone has any suggestions in that area I'm all ears. As always feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading.**

 **-S**


	6. Announcement

**Announcement**

 **To those who regularly read Soaring with Honor, my apologies for the time lapse between the last chapter and this announcement. I feel that I owe it to you guys and gals to explain myself as the last posted chapter will in fact be the last chapter you will ever see for quite some time. I've worked at trying to produce more lately but I've been very preoccupied and have made little progress. The previous chapter may be the last purely because in the coming weeks I am leaving for basic training and the Army. So for close to a year I will find myself unable to write or post more of Soaring with Honor as I go through all my training. My sincere hope is that once I have graduated and have been stationed I will have the time and the dedication to finish the story that I have begun for you. In the mean time I would like to thank those of you that followed the story and gave input on it. See you all in a year, Skald.**


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